<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Nepenthe by HecatesGhost, TempleMap</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476617">Nepenthe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecatesGhost/pseuds/HecatesGhost'>HecatesGhost</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleMap/pseuds/TempleMap'>TempleMap</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Nepenthe Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anal Sex, Angst, Child Eren Yeager, Detectives, Domestic Fluff, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Murder Mystery, Older Eren Yeager, Past Drug Use, Pining, Rating will likely change to Explicit, Reincarnation, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:48:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>67,440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HecatesGhost/pseuds/HecatesGhost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleMap/pseuds/TempleMap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t remember, do you?”</p><p>“Remember what? Last night?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. He sighs heavy against Levi's shoulder.</p><p>“I wanted to tell you,” says Eren, "that I missed you. But, I don’t think you understand.”</p><p>Levi’s staring at the ceiling. His grip loose against Eren’s hips.</p><p>“Eren,” Levi mutters, “What the fuck does that even mean?</p><p>◙   </p><p>A reincarnation story that spans from childhood to adulthood, from innocence to guilt, and from one lifetime to another. </p><p>◙</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Levi/Eren Yeager</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Nepenthe Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>370</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>There’s a great doujinshi series out there called “Let Me In” by the writing circle Hummel/Xia, from which basic inspiration for this story came from.</p><p>I would like to note: the first five chapters of this story are set within the timespan of Eren's youth. ALL romantic, sexual, etc. plots occur AFTER a ten year time skip. </p><p>The finished final draft of this fic is sitting at around 100k words so, well, buckle up. I update every Sunday; we'll be seeing each other for a while.</p><p> </p><p>A few world-building details:<br/>- Mentally, I’m placing this in the series’ universe, but some hundred years in the future, give or take. Technologically, I’m seeing it to be akin to what we in the west would see in the 1950’s/60’s.</p><p>- Later chapters delve into season 4 spoilers.  </p><p>Alright. Good luck and enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The coffee’s lukewarm. Sickly sweet. Globby, half-melted forms of instant mix stick to the bottom of the cup. The powdered milk is tangy; the coffee grinds are as thick as dirt; not even the sugar in the packet tastes real. </p><p>Levi wants, desperately, to scrub his tongue. Can imagine a thick coating of black along the surfaces of his mouth. Instead, he scrunches his nose, hisses through his teeth, and dumps the remaining liquid into the office plant. </p><p>“You’ll kill the thing,” says Erwin, not bothering to glance above his paperwork. </p><p>“Then it’s in better shape than I am.” </p><p>“Suppose so. Listen,” and Erwin looks up. He’s got that dead-set face; the sort that brings trouble. The kind that throws their investigations division into the courtrooms, where there’s even staler coffee than this. It’s that sort of look. Fucking trouble. </p><p>Levi leans back in his chair. “I don’t wanna hear it.” </p><p>“That boy in our custody…” </p><p>“The little murder freak, yeah.” </p><p>“Are you good with kids?”</p><p>Levi snorts. </p><p>“I see,” Erwin nods. His expression is unchanged. He folds his arms and leans against his desk. “There’s an idea I have, considering the details of this case. We’re in a tough scenario. We’ve got a parentless kid, and we can’t find any other family. Add to this, not even the orphanages want him.” </p><p>“How about that girl with him? The one with the black hair. Ship him off with her.” </p><p>“Her aunt took her. Here,” and he shuffles through his papers, pulling out a single sheet of information -- some official-looking document with a slew of signatures all over it. “Kiyomi Azumabito took Mikasa Ackerman. Although, with that last name, I’d think you’re closer in the family tree.”</p><p>“An uncommonly common last name.”</p><p>“Seems so. For the time being, we asked her to look after Eren Jaeger as well. However, she refused. Much to Miss Ackerman’s dismay.”</p><p>“I see. Our precinct ‘an adoption center now?”</p><p>Erwin shakes his head. “There’s a family friend of the Jaeger’s, whom we know very well as our own Officer Hannes.”</p><p>“Ah. The drunk cop. A good choice for our little killer.” </p><p>“Do you see where I’m going with this?”</p><p>“I’m refusing to follow.” </p><p>“So I’ll ask again, with all cards on the table: are you good with kids?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He’s so small. Engulfed, totally, by the red coat he wears. His shoes slide up and down his feet when he shifts them. He’s closed in on himself, his legs folded against his chest, his face pointed at his knees. </p><p>And Hange’s trying; it’s obvious she is. Her voice is melodic, she leans forward in her seat, reaches out a hand, but does not touch him. She glides toys, drawing paper, pens and pencils -- all things more comfortable to a child than words -- to his side of the table. Still, the boy says nothing.</p><p>But his knuckles, gripping his knees, are white.</p><p>Through the two-way mirror, Levi can’t make out the boy’s face; his expression is obscured not only by his downward gaze, but also by his dark and matted hair. Dried blood?</p><p>Levi furrows his brow. “Anyone give that kid a bath?”</p><p>“Detective Zacharius gave him a wet cloth,” says Erwin. “The original clothes he was wearing were submitted for evidence.”  </p><p>“I’m assuming his fingerprints were taken and anything beneath his nails were sampled. But, no bath.”</p><p>Erwin nods.</p><p>“The kid must smell.”</p><p>“Detective Hange doesn’t seem bothered.” </p><p>Levi scoffs. “Does anything bother her? Apart from bad leads.” </p><p> “Point taken.”</p><p>From inside the children’s interrogation room, Hange stands and exits, leaving behind the boy and the bright, colorful walls that entrap him. Alone in the room, his little hand rises, his mouth finally opens. He throws a hard fist against the interrogation table. He wails an angry scream. Tucks his head between his knees and screams and screams some more.</p><p>“Poor thing,” says Hange, coming to stand between Erwin and Levi. She crosses her arms over her chest and watches him through the mirror. </p><p>“Not even our best detective can coddle him?” Levi deadpans.</p><p>Hange shakes her head. “I tried. It’s horrific what he’s gone through. And done.”</p><p>“Are you still under the impression it was self defence?” Erwin’s tone is hushed and careful.</p><p>“Between you and me… Well, between the three of us, I should say… I’m still of that mindset. But,” and Hange shifts on her feet, her eyes trained on the screaming child in the room. “What disturbs me is his lack of horror in what he’s done. ‘I’d kill them again,’ is something he’s said to me anytime we skirt around the incident.”</p><p>Levi snorts. “Makes sense. They did gut his parents in front of him. The kid’s got drive.”</p><p>Hange and Erwin exchange a look, one Levi immediately recognizes as fucking trouble . </p><p>Conspiring bastards. </p><p>“Levi,” ventures Hange, her arm slinking between his. “Are you good with children?”</p><p>“I’ve asked him already,” says Erwin.</p><p>“Oh? And what’d he say?”</p><p>“I said no.”</p><p>“Hush, Levi. What’d he say, commander?”</p><p>“He’ll house Eren Jaeger until a suitable alternative comes forward.”</p><p>“Really?!”</p><p>“I said no.” </p><p>“Hange,” and Erwin nods toward the mirror. The boy’s screaming fit finally having ceased, his hands now grip at his temples, his fingers coil in his hair; his shoulders shake. “Are you planning any further questions with Eren Jaeger today?”</p><p>Hange frowns. She shakes her head. “No.” The cheery lilt in her voice is gone. “We’ve done enough today.”</p><p>Erwin doesn’t bother asking. He doesn’t need to. Levi heaves a sigh, mutters a curse, and enters the bizarrely pastel children’s room on his own. The door smacks behind him.</p><p>Levi takes a breath. Immediately he feels a headache oncoming. Some sort of deja vu when he looks at the kid. </p><p>And when the kid looks up, there’s fire in his eyes. Burning bright and blue like the middle of a flame, his lips in a snarl, his brows pressed forward. He regards Levi with a silent glare, but it’s obvious the kid is going wild, wild, wild. </p><p>Levi smirks. That’s an expression he can respect.</p><p>“Don’t do that screaming anymore.” He eases himself into what was Hange’s chair. “People are gonna think you’re fucking insane.”</p><p>“The hell like I care,” the kid snaps.</p><p>Levi quirks a brow. “Mouthy for a five-year-old.”</p><p>“I’m nine!”</p><p>“Like I give a shit. Anyway. Eren. I’m Detective Levi. I’m not going to ask you questions. I’m not going to ask how you feel. My only concern is getting you in a bath because you smell like shit and look even worse. Got it?”</p><p>The boy says nothing, but some tension in his shoulders visibly ease. </p><p>“Alright,” says Levi. He eyes the bright, crude paintings on the walls -- a poor attempt of creating a warm atmosphere… Most likely Hange’s work. “It’s been ten damn seconds and I’m already sick of being in here. Come on. Get up. You got anything you wanna take with you? No? Alright. Out.”</p><p>For a brat, the kid is good at directions. Maybe it’s the late, late time of the night; maybe the twenty-four hours at the precinct have gotten to him. Maybe being in that clusterfuck of a room is what made him act out, and being back in a sane, neutral space recombobulated his head a bit. Whatever the case, he’s malleable and easy as Levi signs out on the paperwork and finishes the last of his chores before leaving. Eren sticks beside his leg, always underfoot. Intense in his eyes, quick to startle when Levi turns on his heel too fast, but otherwise quiet. </p><p>On the drive home, the kid falls asleep against the passenger window, his breath forming fog on the glass. The early morning sun has tinted the sky a hazy dark blue, pinking along the horizon. </p><p>He’s still passed out by the time Levi’s parked and gathered his briefcase and jacket from the car. He knocks against the passenger side window, increasing in volume until Eren stirs and grumbles and whines.</p><p>“We’re at my place,” says Levi. He opens the car door. Eren crawls out without complaint, his eyes bleary, his movements slow. </p><p>“I have three rules.” And Levi unlocks the front door of his apartment. He throws up a finger. “Don’t make a mess.” A second finger rises. “Don’t annoy me.” A third. “There are more rules but I can’t be assed to figure them out right now.” </p><p>“Um, Detective Levi… So I’m living here now?”</p><p>“Just for a bit. Shoes off, Eren.” </p><p>“Does this mean I’ll never get to go home again? Even though I have my clothes and stuff there?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Probably can, once the crime scene is cleared. But I’m sure somebody’ll get your stuff for you. Unless you wanna traumatise yourself all over again.”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’ll go.”</p><p>Tough, dumb kid, thinks Levi. </p><p>He’s been a witness to the odd circumstances of death enough times to know how most civilians react to it. How the next of kin crumble immediately at the news, who break down in the entryway of their homes; who can’t get through a line of questioning (“When did you last see the victim? What was the victim wearing?”) without being reduced to tears. And there are those who go numb, who prattle on about diets or sports teams or the weather because they have to run their anxious mouths about something; eventually, they’ll break, no different than the rest. </p><p>He can’t place Eren Jaeger. The kid had run between fits in the interrogation room to a now calm intensity. He seems to flit between the two, but mainly possesses that rage, rage, rage. </p><p>It’s disturbing enough -- especially for so young a child -- that Levi lingers outside of the bathroom door, paranoid that a child would attempt to drown in a recently bleached bathtub. </p><p>But he doesn’t. Eren Jaeger steps timidly into the living room, a long, white shirt of Levi’s covering him to the knees. </p><p>Levi looks down at him, his arms crossed. “You tired?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head; his deep, dark circles say otherwise. </p><p>“I’ve got a second bedroom, so you’ll sleep there. Just keep it clean, alright?”</p><p>The kid nods. </p><p>“You hungry?”</p><p>Another shake of the head. But, alright, Levi will take that one. He’s too fucking exhausted to cook anyway. </p><p>“If you change your mind, you saw where the kitchen is, right in the corner of the main room. I’m gonna stress this one last time: just clean up afterwards. I’m not your maid.”</p><p>Eren nods, glancing toward the large living room at the end of the hallway, and then back to Levi’s face. </p><p>“You know how to cook?” ventures Levi, walking down the opposite end of the hallway, Eren at his heel. </p><p>The kid’s pause before answering is so long, Levi knows Eren’s lying through his teeth when he says, “Yeah.” </p><p>“This is your bedroom,” says Levi, cracking open the door. He tosses a hand toward a closed door further down the hallway. “My bedroom’s there. Stay out of it.”</p><p>Eren nods, his brows pinched with worry. He steps into the room, hands awkwardly gripping the hem of his oversized shirt. It’s dark, and he pauses. He’s just a tiny figure half-lit by the hallway. When he turns on his heels, the hallway light falls onto his face; his eyes are back to Levi.</p><p>“Um, Detective Levi, can I ask you a question?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Levi flicks his finger against the lightswitch. The room is notably empty and pale; cream walls and carpet, cream bed sheets and white window curtains that entirely block out the light of the early morning. A single bedside lamp on an unremarkable side table. Simple, much like the rest of the apartment.</p><p>Eren’s got these eyes that Levi can only peg as unnerving. The boy hides nothing in his expression; his emotions as clear as his irises. He looks up at Levi; the corners of his mouth twitch. His voice is so uncharacteristically rough as he whispers, “If you were me… and your parents were already… what would you have…”</p><p>Nine-years old, and the boy’s a (justified) murderer. A witness to his parents’ execution. Running on more than twenty four hours without sleep. What the fuck is this kid doing in Levi’s apartment? How the hell is there no better care for him in this godforsaken world? </p><p>It’s familiar. All too familiar. A life ruined before it could have begun. </p><p>Levi swallows. Sighs. “Honestly?” He cocks his head back. There’s no reason to deeply ponder Eren’s question. He knows, already. </p><p>(He was just a kid dying in the corner of his mother’s room; in the room where men smelling of sweat and vinegar would fuck her on the bed that whined on its springs; and just like how he saw everything, Levi had seen her dying; watched her cheekbones hollow-out; her skin grow tight and grey. He lived only because his uncle had pitied him to the most minimal degree; he lived only because he was the one to survive each fight; the gashes and the bruises; the stitches he made himself out of twine and a needle; his head shoved into a vat of water, liquid in his lungs, his legs kicking the air; but he had lived, no matter how much the underground had aimed to kill him; he was better with a knife than anything else, and he wasn’t afraid to hurt; it was only violence that brought him closer and away from death). </p><p>“I would have made carnage out of them,” says Levi. “I wouldn’t have thought twice.” </p><p>And then Eren Jaeger breaks.</p><p>When the boy exhales, it’s a little breath, and it shudders when it hits air. Eren’s eyes well up. The corners of his lips quiver. He nods, the movement of his face pushing fat tears down his cheeks. A hiccup of a sob spurts from his mouth. </p><p>And, Gods, how painful to watch the kid crumble. </p><p>“Hey,” and Levi pats a hand atop Eren’s head, ruffling the wet hair beneath. He sighs. “Come on. You’re tired.” </p><p>Eren nods, but his eyes are squeezed shut. Snot leaks from his nose, and he roughly rubs the back of his hand against his eyes, smearing his face even wetter. </p><p>“Come on.” Levi presses a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder and Eren climbs onto the bed to sit beneath the plush, white comforter. Still audibly sobbing as he does so. </p><p>“You brush your teeth already?”</p><p>“Yeah I…” Eren hiccups. He sniffs. Wipes angrily against his eyes again. “I used the--” another hiccup. “The toothbrush you gave me.” </p><p>“Alright, good. You need water?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. Squeezes out more tears. “I couldn’t even… I couldn’t even… Before my mom…” He leans forward, burying his face in the sheets and wails. “I couldn’t even protect my… my mom!”</p><p>“Eren. You protected yourself. That’s what your mom would have wanted.”</p><p>“I don’t care!”</p><p>“And Mikasa Ackerman. Most five-year-olds don’t even know how to wipe their own damn asses, and you--”</p><p>“I’m nine!”</p><p>“Shut up. Under any other circumstance, you’d be dead, but your thick head refused to die. You beat the odds already, got it? You’re just a kid.” </p><p>(Fuck, he needs a promotion; playing child psychologist is not a talent that comes naturally).</p><p>“It doesn’t matter if I’m just a kid! It doesn’t matter!” Another burst of a sob. He’s screaming every response now.</p><p>“Eren, listen.” And Levi grabs the back of the boy’s head, pulling him upward by the hair, and jerking his face to look him in the eyes. “If you don’t want this shit to happen again, get stronger. Got it? From here on out.”</p><p>Eren nods. Sniffles. Coughs. And then quiets. Somehow, that had been it; the magic words that brought him back together. </p><p>“Alright,” Levi sighs. He releases his grip. “I’m grabbing you water. Stop crying by the time I’m back.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t been assigned to the case, but there are a few things Levi knows. </p><p>Namely, there are seven players in the incident. Total death count: four. </p><p>Carla Jaeger: multiple stab wounds. Death by blood loss.</p><p>Grisha Jaeger: single stab wound to the lower neck, resulting in puncture of the subclavian artery. Death by blood loss. </p><p>Man 1 (identity pending): multiple stab wounds. Death by blood loss. </p><p>Man 2 (identity pending): multiple stab wounds. Death by blood loss. </p><p>Survivors include Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, and a Man 3 (identity unknown), as reported by Jaeger and Ackerman. </p><p>Unidentified set of shoe prints near the back garden window support the claimed involvement of a third individual. </p><p>According to Mikasa Ackerman, the motive of the intruders is theorized to be kidnapping with intent to -- </p><p>Levi drops the documents onto his lap. He’s stretched out in his own bed, his back against the headboard. The curtains are drawn -- he had considered sleeping for a few hours before going on with his day, but had failed in both sleeping and being anything less than groggy. Such was why he hated all-nighters at the precinct; in the day following he accomplished neither rest nor productivity.</p><p>He hears another wail. Another set of choking sobs that bob down the hallway. It’s a noise that’s been going on for a few hours now, peaking and settling every so often. Fits that Levi had only to peek into the second bedroom to confirm were noises Eren was making in his sleep. </p><p>The kid had been muttering, “Mom… Mom… Mom…” Tears leaking from his shut eyes.</p><p>Levi had half a mind to wake him, but the idea of gently coaxing the boy awake and dealing with the emotional aftermath (and Levi knows the kid will refuse to sleep again after this, might as well let him sleep while he can, no matter how traumatic the dream) felt too heavy of a burden. </p><p>It’s ten in the morning. Might as well make some tea. </p><p>The water’s barely boiling when four melodic knocks land against the front door; distinctly Hange. </p><p>“I’ve gone and bought him clothes,” she says, setting down shopping bags. “Some children’s books… a drawing pad with pigmented pencils. Anything he draws, please tell me about. Art from a child can be indicative of anything. It’s a good way to measure their psyche.”</p><p>“The kid doesn’t strike me as the type who’d do art”</p><p>The kid doesn’t strike him as acting like some carefree kid at all. </p><p>“Well, nevertheless,” says Hange. She sets packaged toiletries out on the table. More clothes. Socks. </p><p>“He’s not moving in here,” says Levi. </p><p>“These are bare necessities. Anyway, how is he?”</p><p>“Stick around and you’ll hear him eventually. He’s gone quiet for the time being.” </p><p>“I see. Night terrors?”</p><p>“Day terrors. Waking terrors. Sleeping terrors. Whatever terrors. All terrors.” </p><p>Hange nods. </p><p>“Levi.”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>“There are a few complicated parts to this case. Are you interested?”</p><p>He sighs. “Alright.” Rises from his chair. “Let me grab a cigarette, at least. And my tea.” No matter how ‘few’ the details may be, Hange never fails to span ‘a few’ into some hours. </p><p>“Nice idea! I’ll have both as well.” </p><p>“I didn’t offer.”</p><p>“Thank you~”</p><p>They sit on the balcony, an ashtray on a small glass table between them. She rests her cigarette on a small divot in the ashtray. Folds her hands in her lap.</p><p>“Based on the autopsy, we’re thinking Carla Jaeger was the first to die.” </p><p>“Alright.” </p><p>“The last to die was Grisha Jaeger.” </p><p>Levi exhales, the heady scent of tobacco passing his nose and trailing up toward the sky. He hates this habit of his, how it stains his fingertips yellow and drenches his clothes in its stink. </p><p>“Murder weapon?”</p><p>“There were tears along the skin of Carla Jaeger,” Hange’s voice is low and quiet -- information meant only for their ears. “Suggesting a serrated knife. Grisha Jaeger’s were clean, so we’re pinging his murder weapon as the slick-edged knife nearby the body.”</p><p>“I see. So they were murdered by different people. Makes sense. There were three bastards there. They’re not going to pass around the same knife.”</p><p>“Agreed. But,” and she leans forward, “We have three weapons as evidence: the serrated knife that killed Carla Jaeger, a butcher knife, unused, that had a similar handle to the serrated knife -- so we’re thinking they’re from the same knife-set that were in the murder’s possession -- and,” Hange pauses. The reflection of the sun shines white on her glasses. “A third knife. Unserrated; the one used to kill Grisha Jaeger. A different handle. It came from a set. Do you want to guess from which knife set it came?” </p><p>Levi clicks his tongue. “You’re obviously hinting it’s not from the prior set. So I’ll go ahead and guess… it belongs to a knife set belonging to the Jaeger’s?”</p><p>“Bingo.” </p><p>“Assume I’m one of the murders. I need a knife. I take a convenient knife from the kitchen.”</p><p>“But why would they need the Jaeger’s knife? If, let’s say, our escaped fugitive had entered the home without a murder weapon… why?”</p><p>“They couldn’t buy the third knife on discount,” Levi snorts.</p><p>“I’m serious. So let’s assume the third man brought his own knife. But, there’s no other knife from the criminals’ set anywhere in the house. It wasn’t dropped and left behind, so we have to assume he had taken his personal knife with him when he escaped. So if he has a knife of his own… Why take the Jaeger’s and kill Grisha Jaeger with it?”</p><p>“Use your head, four eyes. There was clearly a struggle. If you drop a knife, isn’t it better to grab whatever is nearby, than crawl on the floor looking for it? Especially when you’ve got a murderous five-year-old after you.” </p><p>“Wrong age. But, anyway. There was no blood in the kitchen, or signs of a struggle. No scuff marks from shoes, or anything of the sort. The kitchen also lies in the back portion of the house, whereas the murder took place in the front living room.”</p><p>“You’re working on half-baked assumptions.”</p><p>“All I’m saying is… Grisha Jaeger’s death is more than it seems. That’s all I’m saying.” </p><p>Levi leans back. There’s a pit in his stomach. “Why am I watching the kid, Hange?”</p><p>She shifts in her seat. Brings her cigarette up to her mouth. </p><p>“Why do you think you’re watching him?”</p><p>“Because you’re all bastards. I’m not assigned to the case. And, I’ve got enough on my plate right now. Questioning some brat over dinner to find out if he’s left anything out of his testimonials isn’t the sort of crap I’m paid for.”</p><p>“We think he’s dangerous, Levi.”</p><p>“Psh.” Levi presses air through his teeth. “Fucking ridiculous. You think he invited some strangers over for dinner, murdered his parents, and then murdered some nobodies in between? Fuck off.” </p><p>“There’s just so many inconsistencies. Between him and his adopted sister. Like, they’ve been trying to keep their story’s straight, but there’s inconsistencies in their details. And then, there’s what he’s said versus what our evidence supports…”</p><p>“He’s nine.”</p><p>“You were too.”</p><p>Levi’s hand stills. The cigarette between his two fingers suspended nearby his lips. A crust of ash falls from the tip and onto his lap. </p><p>“Shit,” he says, brushing it off. </p><p>“Whatever the case,” Hange continues. “There isn’t enough evidence yet, or even a set motivation, for what Erwin’s theorizing--”</p><p>“Of course it’d all be Erwin’s theory--”</p><p>“But as the main detective in the Jaeger case, I want to keep close tabs on him. Even if it’s by non-traditional methods. Plus,” and she sighs. Leans back in her chair and cracks her neck. “We really don’t have a place to put him. That wasn’t a lie.” </p><p> </p><p>◙</p><p> </p><p>“No,” says Levi into the phone, “I can’t give you detailed facts on the case… Yes, I’m his guardian. Temporarily… What kind of paperwork?”</p><p>At the kitchen table, Eren takes another bite of oatmeal. Watches as Levi huffs and grumbles and stomps through the kitchen. The corded phone receiver pinched between his head and shoulder as he attempts to cook eggs. </p><p>“It’s Levi Ackerman. A-C-K-E-R-M-A-N… Right. Yes. You can update his file to put my home number there instead… <em>Shit</em>.”</p><p>There’s a hiss on the pan. A lazy trail of grey smoke. The scent of burnt food. Levi nods his head toward the kitchen window and Eren goes to open it. </p><p>“Listen, I’ve got my hands full at the moment,” he continues. He’s holding the pan mid-air; the eggs still crackle on the blackened surface. Eren shimmies onto the kitchen counter, opens the cabinet, and sets two plates beside the stovetop. </p><p>“Yeah, we’re looking at next week to bring him. What’s the school address again?” Levi slides the charcoal eggs onto both plates. Eren sets them on the table. </p><p>It takes a while longer before the phone hits its dock with a slam. </p><p>“Fucking shit,” says Levi, scooting back the chair. He plops onto it and groans. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “What a waste of an hour.”</p><p>“Do I have to go back to school?” asks Eren, timidly. He pokes his fork around his eggs.</p><p>“You prefer following me around the precinct all day?”</p><p>“...Yeah.” </p><p>“Hange questioning you every hour?”</p><p>“Not really. But the rest I like.” </p><p>Eren takes a small bite of the scrambled egg. His bowl of porridge is still only half-finished. The kid’s a picky eater, too emotional for an appetite. Levi’s not one to force him to eat -- if he wants it, great. If not, he’ll eat eventually. But still, seeing this small increase in appetite over the past week is almost a relief. </p><p>“Don’t you miss your friends?”</p><p>“Is Mikasa back in school?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know.”</p><p>They’ve been careful to keep the two away from each other. Erwin and Hange are still convinced there’s a cover-up somewhere, that both Mikasa and Eren know more than they say. </p><p>Levi rests his chin in his hand and watches as Eren scrapes his breakfast around the plate. </p><p>“You miss her?” ask Levi, casually.</p><p>Eren’s face flinches. “Who? Mikasa?”</p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>“Mm. She’s annoying sometimes. Kinda too over protective, you know? But… Yeah, I miss her.” </p><p>“She’s something of a sister to you.”</p><p>“Yeah, kinda.” He glances up at Levi. “You have a sister? Or a girlfriend?”</p><p>Levi snorts. “What a weird set of questions to ask right after the other. But no, I have neither as far as I know.” </p><p>“Brothers?”</p><p>“Not as far as I know.” </p><p>Eren makes a face. “Wouldn’t you know?”</p><p>“Eh, not so much.” Levi takes a tentative bite of breakfast. </p><p>“Why not?” </p><p>“Don’t ask so many questions.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Eren mumbles. “But, you started it, Detective Levi.” </p><p>“So I did. Want tea?”</p><p>“Yes, please.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They ride a bike to the precinct, Levi doing all of the peddling and steering, while Eren stands behind him, gripping his shoulders as he balances his weight on the foot pegs attached to the back wheel. There’s a parade in the city, most streets are closed to car traffic, but Eren says he doesn’t mind. He likes when Levi takes fast corners. He likes the adrenaline and the wind in his face. </p><p>Levi does too, but decides not to mention it. </p><p>“I wish I could have seen a titan,” says Eren over the sound of a parade. Paper Mache statues attached to wagons pass by. Women and men in costumes bang drums as they follow. The heady scent of beer and fried foods coat the morning air. </p><p>“They never existed,” says Levi. “It’s an old folk’s tale.” </p><p>“Still, would’ve been cool.” </p><p>“Yeah? To be eaten?”</p><p>“I’ve dreamt of it a lot. So, I guess, maybe not, if I have to get eaten. But to fight them would be cool, just like in the fairy tales. Detective Levi, can we go to the fair tonight? Look, they’re setting it up. See?”</p><p>A worker groans as he drops wooden planks onto the wide town square. Rickety-looking coasters and swings and carousels stand half-completed. </p><p>“Yeah,” says Levi, taking a mental tally of his day. “Maybe.” </p><p>By all accounts, it’s a large precinct, settled in an old state building that had once been used to house nobles. Departments are broken into separate wings -- the general police force working on the bottom floor, specialty divisions in the middle, with the homicide detectives cozied up at the top. What was once grandiose rooms had been made into offices. Below the building, in the underground, barred spaces (which must be hundreds of years old) work as holding cells. </p><p>He sticks close to Levi’s legs, never more than a short arm’s distance away. Following in step at every turn. Gripping Levi's pant legs when anything jars him. </p><p>Despite Hange’s constant questioning, there’s a coziness up top that Eren seems to grow fond of. He remains, mostly, in Levi’s office, pawing through books or watching out the window -- eyes shining as he witnesses thugs being carried in from the streets kicking and hissing. </p><p>In the hours Levi is absent, chasing a lead, Eren takes to cleaning when Hange hasn’t cornered him. In the late afternoon, Levi returns from scouring through a rather bloody case to Eren still with a white kerchief in his hair and a sponge in his hands as he wipes down the office windows. </p><p>“Did you catch the killer?” he asks. </p><p>“That’s confidential. Do the right window again. I’m seeing streaks.” </p><p>“Knock, knock. Levi,” comes a voice.</p><p>Hange’s in the doorway. She waves at Eren (who gives a physical wince in return) and seats herself on Levi’s desk. </p><p>“I need to borrow your young ward,” she says. </p><p>“He’s yours.”</p><p>“Ah, wait! Detective--!” Eren starts, his voice rising in panic. </p><p>Levi only spares him a glance. “How long you gonna be, four eyes?” </p><p>“Um, I dunno.” She grabs Eren by the shirt collar. “A few hours? I’m just going over details.”</p><p>Levi glances at the clock. </p><p>“Alright,” he says. “Just have him back by evening. The brat wants to go to the fair.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“So… He’s never mentioned anything?”</p><p class="p1">“No. And it’s not my job to ask,” Levi drawls. “It’s your’s.”</p><p class="p1">Hange groans and kicks an ankle over her knee. She squints into the carnival lights, at the rows of food stands and carousels and Ferris wheels. Into the yellow glow of old, spherical lightbulbs and the rise of smoke from her cigarette, half-obscuring it all.</p><p class="p1">“He really looks like a kid out there,” she says. Her eyes rest on Eren, whom stands in line for a rickety wooden coaster, looking uncomfortable as he waits alone. He glances over his shoulder, eye flitting about until he finds Hange and Levi.</p><p class="p1">And he waves.</p><p class="p1">“Not to shock you,” Levi sighs, standing. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “He is a kid.”</p><p class="p1">“I know, but…” It’s late in the evening; the sky is a deep, dark indigo. Hange leans back on her hands and squints up at the starless sky. “Anyway,” she backtracks. “Glad I could walk with you two here.”</p><p class="p1">“Glad you let me drag the brat out of questioning. I didn’t have all night.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, glad you let me continue my interview with him as we walked here.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, sure. By the way, I’m realizing why your interviews go on for so long.”</p><p class="p1">“That so? Enlighten me before I leave.”</p><p class="p1">“You’re mainly the one talking.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Eren’s toward the front of the line when Levi approaches. His clothes reek of Hange’s cigarette and Levi’s sure his time would be better spent trying to scrub every white fiber of his white button-up, but the kid’s gone through enough that Levi’s sure, just this once, he can overlook cleanliness for kindness.</p><p class="p1">“I was kinda worried you wouldn’t make it, Detective Levi,” says Eren.Ahead of them, the coaster settles at its loading station, clacking as it comes to a stop. It’s not much of an impressive ride, just a set of three hills and dips and some corners where the track lets the cart pick up speed. The dubious promise of safety seems more frightening than what’s advertised.</p><p class="p1">“Are you going on with me?” Eren asks.</p><p class="p1">“I hadn’t planned on it.”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, I thought you would. It’s supposed to be really fun.”</p><p class="p1">“Next!” calls the ride conductor. He waves up a hand, motioning the line to move closer.</p><p class="p1">Levi steps forward. “You want your own cart?” he asks.</p><p class="p1">“Are you going on?”</p><p class="p1">It’s cute, almost, the hitch of excitement in Eren’s voice.</p><p class="p1">Levi shrugs. “Sure. Why not. It’s just a big-ass rollercoaster.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll ride next to you! If… If you want.”</p><p class="p1">They’re loaded into the front cart, a single safety bar long enough to cover them both. He feels a bit stupid, Levi. Crammed onto a joy-ride full of kids and half-drunk parents. It’s when the cart begins climbing the first hill, that Levi realizes how horrific the next day will be if, somehow, someway, Erwin or Hange or Mike or anyone else from the precinct saw him on the damned contraption. They’re crawling up the hill, slow, slow, high above the rest of the fairground and Levi buries his face in his hands and groans.</p><p class="p1">“Detective Levi… Are you okay? Are you afraid of heights?” Eren asks.</p><p class="p1">Levi groans again. <em>Stupid brat.</em></p><p class="p1">Some kid behind Levi’s ear, maybe two carts down, begins screaming at the hill’s top. Which is goddamn stupid because <em>it’s not even that high…</em></p><p class="p1">And then it drops. The front cart leans forward on its weight, tipping down into the valley, the cart bumping and jostling as it goes. Wind sweeps up into Levi’s face. Eren throws his arms into the sky. He’s got this big, big smile. These big shining eyes. He screams, but it’s one of joy. Pure joy, his cheeks rising to turn his eyes into half-moons kind of joy; a joy that forces out a fit of screaming laughter.</p><p class="p1">The roller cart turns a rounded corner; the thing takes on greater speed. The tracks bring them up and down a second hill, a third. And something in the wind and the speed and the colors of the fair lights propelling past him brings some sort of deja vu and a memory that Levi cannot grasp — the particular recollection of flying, of jutting past roof tops, of adrenaline when the air propels into his lungs.</p><p class="p1">He’s perplexed, still, when the cart hits its stop. But he settles his face, runs a hand through his hair, and steps off the platform with his typical ease. Eren bounds after him.</p><p class="p1">“Fun,” says the kid simply. But it’s more than that; Eren’s still got that wide grin. That starry-eyed look. He glances back toward the track, which has begun to haul up the next set up riders on its hooks and tracks.</p><p class="p1">And then Eren stops.</p><p class="p1">And someone cries out his name.</p><p class="p1">It’s a high voice, clearly one of a child’s. Over the music cranked out on street organs and the chatter of the crowds, the dull thumping of shoes against cobblestone grow closer. Levi, steps in front of Eren, watches a boy dash into view, his tears reflecting the lights of the carnival. Blonde hair bouncing with each forward step. He crashes into Eren, knocking him a few paces back; throws his arms around Eren’s shoulders and hugs him tight.</p><p class="p1">“I saw you…” the boy pants, out of breath. “I saw you on the coaster! I… Eren…” He grips him tighter. “I heard. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. I’m so…”</p><p class="p1">Eren’s hands hang in the air, hovering above the blonde child’s shoulders. Shocked, it seemed, to have been found by this boy. </p><p class="p1">It takes him a moment to mumble, “Armin, don’t cry.” And he returns the embrace with a stronger squeeze.</p><p class="p1">Levi stands in the periphery, knowing this moment is not for him.</p><p class="p1">“Listen,” says Eren and his voice goes low, too quiet for Levi to overhear. But Levi sees Armin’s eyes go wide and then close; tears squeezing out from their corners. Eren pulls out of the hug.</p><p class="p1">The moment has erased the prior, temporary bliss that the coaster had given Eren. He looks over to Levi, his face having returned to its usual un-eased expression. The childlike wonder that had once been there, gone. Back to the boy with the agony and anger.</p><p class="p1">He leads Armin over by the wrist, planting them both directly in front of Levi.</p><p class="p1">“Uh, Detective Levi,” he says. “This is my friend Armin.”</p><p class="p1">“Um,” says Armin, brilliantly.</p><p class="p1">Levi nods his head. The blonde kid looks like he’s about to piss his pants. But then he speaks:</p><p class="p1">“So you’re a detective? Are you helping Eren’s case, then?”</p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">The boy blinks. The way he sets his lips straight and furrows his brow, Levi knows this kid named Armin must be trying to work through the slough that a simple ‘no’ had given him.</p><p class="p1">“I mean,” Eren quickly adds in. “He’s a detective for other cases. Not for what happened to me. But, detective Levi’s super famous! He’s the one who solved and caught the Alley Way Rapist, and the Kenny the Ripper case and tens of hundreds more. He’s the absolute best in the detective force.”</p><p class="p1">Levi quirks a brow. <em>Who the fuck told this kid all that? </em></p><p class="p1">“And, I’m living with Detective Levi. Temporarily.”</p><p class="p1">Armin visibly jumps. “You’re not with Mikasa!?”</p><p class="p1">Eren’s voice rises, “Have you talked to her?!”</p><p class="p1">“No, she hasn’t been at school. But our teacher said she’s with her aunt? I’ve been… I’ve been so worried. But I thought… I thought you two would have been together and that you’d be there with her. Why would you be…?”</p><p class="p1">And the kid’s eyes slide back over to Levi; it’s so obvious, again, that the kid is putting puzzle pieces together in that yellow-haired head of his.</p><p class="p1">“Take it up with the girl’s aunt,” says Levi. He crosses his arms. “Don’t act like I’m some captor.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m—” Armin stutters. “Sorry, I wasn’t. I was just curious, sir, is all.”</p><p class="p1">Well, at least this five-year-old has manners.</p><p class="p1">“Armin!” An old man comes into view, hustling as quickly as his old legs can carry him. Even in the night’s hue, he wears a straw summer hat.</p><p class="p1">Coming closer, the old man gasps at the sight of Eren. Much like the boy before him, he pulls Eren into an embrace, which Eren responds to with the same stroke of initial awkwardness.</p><p class="p1">“The kids call me Grandpa Arlert,” says the man, stretching out his hand to Levi after a short conversation with the boys. “You can call me the same if you like, young man.” He smiles warmly. “I don’t mind being considered everyone’s old man here…”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>What, like the village bicycle?</em>
</p><p class="p1">“Are you watching after Eren?”</p><p class="p1">“Temporarily, yes. I’m detective Levi Ackerman.”</p><p class="p1">“A pleasure.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They sit against along a dining bench tucked beneath one of the sparse, planted trees in the city center. The dry branches have string-lights hung along it haphazardly. In the darkening night, the great sound of the carnival had lulled to a muffled excitement. The crowds in the periphery become more scarce, the mothers and father with their young children having long brought them home. Every so often, dashing between stalls, Levi catches a glimpse of Eren or the bright shine of Armin’s hair.</p><p class="p1">“They’re good boys,” says Grandpa Arlert. He sets two mugs of beer on the table with care. “This is on me, for taking care of the boy. I can’t imagine what he’s gone through.”</p><p class="p1">Levi runs a finger along the ring of his mug, eyes the lip of the glass for any signs of a lazy wash-up. “You don’t even know half of it.”</p><p class="p1">“I bet I don’t. He doesn’t even look like himself. He’s got the eyes of a soldier that’s come back from war.”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Yeah, he does sometimes. </em>
</p><p class="p1">Levi watches a group of kids begin to swell; three or four dashing out past the food stalls and toward the Ferris wheel. Four or five others quick at their heels. Making noises like monsters.</p><p class="p1">“Did you know the Jaegers well?”</p><p class="p1">“Somewhat,” muses Grandpa Arlert. “Carla was a good woman. Grisha I never saw much of, but they were a good family through and through.”</p><p class="p1">Levi sips at his beer; it’s a heady taste, but not horrible. He raises his mug in a small cheers. “Thank you for this.”</p><p class="p1">He’s not even half finished with his drink when Armin comes into view, his hair all over his face. Panic clear on his features.</p><p class="p1">“Grandpa!” He gasps. “Grandpa! Eren’s in a fight, and it’s, it’s a lot of older boys and…!” He gasps for breath.</p><p class="p1">Grandpa Arlert groans. “Again? Even now? Oh, this boy.” He grunts as he stands, his knees cracking into place.</p><p class="p1">“It’s fine,” says Levi. He reaches for his coat. Kind as the offer of beer was, he’ll survive without finishing it. “Wait here, I’ll get him.”</p><p class="p1">Armin brings them to the Ferris wheel, where a group of whooping and hollering children have formed.</p><p class="p1"><em>My personal hell,</em> thinks Levi at the sight of them.</p><p class="p1">They’ve formed a circle, with Eren and three other boys in the middle of it. Fighting with fists and feet. Despite being a head or two shorter than them all, Eren’s, somehow, still surviving. But even from a distance, Levi can make out the obvious red streak of blood beneath his nose.</p><p class="p1">“We’ve gotta get Eren—”</p><p class="p1">“Wait a moment,” says Levi. He grabs Armin’s shoulder and holds him in place. “Let’s make a bet… Our main brat or the three big brats?”</p><p class="p1">“What! Detective Levi!”</p><p class="p1">Eren clearly fights dirty, because Eren fights desperately. His fists hone into the face; his kicking legs go for the stomach. He pulls hair. He bites arms. When he pins one to the ground, he punches the boy’s head repeatedly, wailing with each hit, until another kid kicks Eren square in the ribs and topples him over.</p><p class="p1">And, honestly, while his drive is nothing less than impressive, the boy utterly sucks at fighting. Three on one, sure, is an unfair fight, but as far as things go, Eren’s still getting his ass <em>kicked.</em></p><p class="p1">“Alright,” Levi sighs. It takes the third <em>crack</em> of Eren’s skull hitting stone for him to finally step forward. The kid’s coated in blood, his nose looking warped. There’s scratches and bruising all along Eren’s face and knees and arms. He’s half-passed out on the ground when Levi shoves his way into the circle. The hellish crowd of children, having seen an adult finally come to intervene, disperse. Two of the big brats run. The third is so enamored with having Eren pinned to the ground, his chubby, dumb hands busy slapping at his face, he doesn’t notice Levi approach.</p><p class="p1">And “Alright, off,” Levi grumbles. He lifts up a leg, connects the sole of his shoe against the big brat’s shoulder to push him away with a <em>not-hard-but-not-entirely-gentle-either </em>kick. The kid scrambles away. Hopefully not running to tell his big brat mom.</p><p class="p1">Levi gives a heavy sigh. Rubs a hand over his face. He’s gonna get a mouthful from Hange tomorrow and that cold-eyed glare from Erwin, as if a few punches to the head could actually mess up an already fucked-up kid. “Come on,” he says. He pulls a kerchief from his coat and holds it against Eren’s nose. “Let’s go home.”</p><p class="p1">“I almost had them…”</p><p class="p1">“No, you didn’t.”</p><p class="p1">And, “Eren!” wails Armin, dashing in close. He throws himself at Eren’s side. “Are you okay?! You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to fight them for me.”</p><p class="p1">Eren snaps back, “You shouldn’t have run away!”</p><p class="p1">To which Armin grimaces. “I know… I know that, but, but you shouldn’t pick fights with guys like that.”</p><p class="p1">“They were picking a fight with you—”</p><p class="p1">“Alright, alright,” Levi cuts in. “Pause the heroics, lovebirds, we’re going.”</p><p class="p1">“Leaving!?” Eren gasps.</p><p class="p1">“You wanna bleed all over the Ferris wheel? Yeah, we’re going. Come on. Up.”</p><p class="p1">“Eren,” says Armin. He grips Eren’s shoulders upon standing. “When will I see you? How do I find you?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m coming back to school next week. Maybe Mikasa too.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Levi’s fifty-percent afraid of the kid suffering a concussion, falling off the back of his bike, and ending up in a state worse than his current napkins-shoved-up-his-nostrils-to-stop-the-bleeding look. He checks the kid’s pupils thrice, the last time right before he unlocks his bike from its post.</p><p class="p1">“You feel woozy?” asks Levi, craning Eren’s head back and pulling an eyelid up.</p><p class="p1">“Only kind of.”</p><p class="p1">Levi snorts. Lets go. “You seem used to getting beat up.”</p><p class="p1">Eren makes a face. “I don’t care,” he says, his voice hard and set. “I’ll get beat up as many times as I need to, but I’ll never run.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s admirable. But, stupid.” Levi glances at his bike. It’s a dumpy, old thing. More rust than paint. But it’s reliable. The first thing he had bought after his citizenship was granted for the surface. </p><p class="p1">And, apart from pegs on the back wheels, there’s no way in hell it’s meant for two riders.</p><p class="p1">“Can you walk?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” nods Eren. But there’s open wounds on his kneecaps. Even walking to the edges of the carnival had elicited little hums of pain as he stumbled toward where Levi kept his bike. He doubts immediately that the kid can wobble home for twenty minutes, but who’s he to chastise or demean ambition?</p><p class="p1">Nevertheless, ten minutes in, as Levi pushes the bike beside him, he notices Eren has failed to keep up the pace. The boy hisses with each step. Curses when Levi waits for him. And despite his best efforts, is utterly obvious in his struggles.</p><p class="p1">Levi leans his bike against a wall. He bends down. “Your whining is annoying. Just get on my back.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m fine!”</p><p class="p1">“Come on. I’m tired. We’d be home already if you were faster.”</p><p class="p1">Eren scrambles on, wrapping his arms around Levi’s neck, his clasped fists falling above Levi’s chest. He’s surprisingly light for his height and Levi stands straight without effort, bouncing Eren into the most comfortable position upon standing. His right arm holding Eren’s right leg in place around his waist, Levi takes the handlebar of his bicycle and, balancing it carefully, walks onward home.</p><p class="p1">Somewhere along the trip, Eren says: “You know what Armin told me? That he’d ask his grandpa if I could come live with them.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s nice. You want that?” Levi can feel Eren’s little heartbeat, thudding quick, quick, quick, near his shoulder blade.</p><p class="p1">“Mm. I dunno. I guess.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ll be honest, though,” says Levi. “I don’t think you could go live with them.”</p><p class="p1">“Huh?”</p><p class="p1">“I hate to take decisions away from you, but only in this instance, you may have to wait until your case is closed. But, I may just be talking out of my ass.”</p><p class="p1">Eren goes silent. It’s a block later he tightens his grip around Levi. “Why? That doesn’t make sense.”</p><p class="p1">“C’mon, Eren,” and the bike rattles as it bounces over an upturned cobblestone. “You’re smart. You know why.”</p><p class="p1">The boy goes silent and remains so, opening his mouth only after the front door is unlocked and Levi bends down to let him off near the kitchen table. Levi pulls out bandages, ointments, tweezers, and a cloth. He shucks off his bloodied, cigarette-scented shirt; his skin had been crawling ever since he felt the warm drip of Eren’s blood on his shirt collar. He kicks it to the corner of the kitchen, feeling Eren’s eyes intently on him.</p><p class="p1">Honestly, the dried smear of blood makes it all look worse than it is. Thankfully, on close inspection, the brat’s nose isn’t broken — just nicely banged. The scrapes on his knees and elbows aren’t deep enough to scar. When Levi peeks in his mouth, there are no chipped or missing teeth. The greatest mar on Eren’s body seems to be the pinkening of early bruises, which are scattered all along his face, his ribs, arms, legs…</p><p class="p1">He sends Eren off for a bath and gets to applying medicine and bandages once the kid is clean. Eren gasps through his teeth whenever ointment touches open wounds, but is otherwise an easy patient.</p><p class="p3">Levi’s just finished up with the right knee when Eren says, “Thanks for going on the rollercoaster with me today.”</p><p class="p3">“Sure.”</p><p class="p3">Eren swings his right leg, testing the pain. “I noticed… you looked really happy on it, Detective Levi. I mean, not that you were smiling, but I just kinda noticed that you looked happy, in a way.”</p><p class="p3">Levi blinks. His hand stalls for a moment.</p><p class="p3">“You must really like rollercoasters,” says Eren.</p><p class="p3">Levi shakes his head. “That was the first one I’ve ever been on.”</p><p class="p3">“Really?!”</p><p class="p1">He exchanges a dirty cotton swab for a clean one. Moves onto Eren’s left knee. “Yeah, really.”</p><p class="p1">“Why’s that?”</p><p class="p1">“Huh?”</p><p class="p1">“I mean… Were you scared of them when you were a kid?”</p><p class="p1">Levi scoffs. “Don’t be stupid.”</p><p class="p1">And he doesn’t know why, because at his core, he’s dedicatedly private. Slipping out hints of a history only when forcibly provoked. But something in the face of this damned kid makes Levi admit:</p><p class="p1">“You seriously think there would be rollercoasters in the underground?”</p><p class="p1">And Eren’s eyes grow wide. “You grew up in the underground?” He leans forward in his chair. Says in a hushed voice: “I thought only bad guys lived there.”</p><p class="p1">“There are shitbags everywhere, Eren. On the surface, too. And, normal people live in the underground just like up here.”</p><p class="p1">“Why do you live up here?”</p><p class="p1">“Hm?” Levi has begun to pack the bandages away. “I like the freedom.” He glances over at Eren, whom looks struck and awed by the revelation, like it’s the most brilliant thing he’s ever heard, but nods all the same.</p><p class="p1">Cleaned and bandaged, the kid’s looking better. No longer a scrappy, dirt and blood covered orphan — the very thing Levi had been and remains at his core, no matter how many times he bathes the blood from his skin.</p><p class="p1">But something doesn’t settle right. This son of a doctor, this lovingly sheltered child that Eren was… there’s a mean-streak in him, totally. Brought about by brash stubbornness, of course. But for a boy whom had killed at least two adult men…</p><p class="p1">“Eren,” says Levi, and his voice is sudden and stern enough that Eren jolts in his chair. “How the fuck did you get beat up by three snot-nosed brats?”</p><p class="p1">“They’re unfair <em>bastards</em>—”</p><p class="p1">“No, listen.” And Levi returns to his prior spot, kneeling in front of the boy in his kitchen chair. Seeing eye-to-eye. “You <em>killed</em> two grown men. How the fuck does that happen? And you can’t even hold your own against children.”</p><p class="p1">A look flickers across Eren’s face; his lips drag downward. His brows knit with worry. He looks away. Says in a small voice: “Those two guys who killed my parents… I just really wanted them to die. I had never wanted anything more in my life.”</p><p class="p1">Levi blinks.</p><p class="p1">And here it was, clicking in like a cog: the inaccuracy Hange had seen.</p><p class="p1">“Gotcha,” mumbles Levi. He ruffles Eren’s hair and stands. “Sorry to bring it up.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">◙</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“According to his school records,” says Erwin. He tilts his face towards the sun. “He’s got a track records of misbehavior and violence.”</p><p class="p1">“Violence, sure,” Levi shrugs. He dashes out a cigarette with his heel. Takes the extra effort to pick up the butt and dispose of it in a nearby trashcan. “But he’s well behaved apart from that.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, with you he is,” says Hange. A cup of that instant coffee is perched in her right hand. The smell of it disgusting. Detective Mike Zacharius, beside her, wafts the smell away from his nose. “But that’s hardly surprising.”</p><p class="p1">“Levi still the only thing the kid talks about?” mutters Mike behind his cigarette.</p><p class="p1">“You ‘seen Eren always at Levi’s feet? Of course. The kid’s starstruck.” Hange grins. The sour look on Levi’s face coaxes out further laughter. “You’re a celebrity to the kid. It’s not a bad thing.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s the very opposite,” says Erwin, looking out across the sunny courtyard. “If he trusts and admires Levi, perhaps he’s willing to share truths.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not playing good-cop-bad-cop,” Levi frowns.</p><p class="p1">“Ah, you scared to be the good cop, for once?” Hange pokes him in the side.</p><p class="p1">“Psh.” Levi waves her hand away. “You like torture as much as the next one. My point is: let’s not play mind games with the kid.”</p><p class="p1">“Levi.” And Erwin’s tone matches the set expression on his face. Even on their smoke break, Erwin can never break away from his aura of commander. “Hange’s going to the crime scene tomorrow. I figure it’s a good idea if you go along.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So after having re-read each comment no less than ten times, I concluded that I needed to finish up this chapter ASAP and get it out to you all. :) THANK YOU!!! A million times over for every word you have said, and for every read-through and kudo you've given me.</p><p>I hope this story goes exactly as you would like it to. I thrive off your thoughts and comments. I hope I'm doing our boys justice on their characterizations. Mentions of parts you liked, critiques, analysis, guesses, and other thoughts, are ALWAYS welcomed and appreciated greatly. </p><p>Stay safe and se you next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">“Getting fat there, runt,” said Kenny.</p><p class="p1">He squeezed Levi’s cheek between two strong fingers. His breath stunk of whisky, his clothes were musty with sweat. Every breath he let out seemed to glide over Levi’s face; the closest thing to a breeze in the stale underground air. Today, Kenny’s hat was dipped low. It seemed like a new one, wider at the brim and almost new looking. It obscured half of his face; a single grey eyeball, scrunched at the corners, held Levi’s gaze in its own.</p><p class="p1">He didn’t swat his uncle’s hand away. Kenny’s mere presence was enough an anomaly that Levi feared any brash move would scare the man off forever. And, any attention felt good; any pinch, or slap, or kick. He’d take it from Kenny, and Kenny alone.</p><p class="p1">Kenny gave a last good squeeze, and Levi knew it would bruise. That it would ache for a while, long after the man’s gone. Kenny bit out a laugh — completely fake, completely forced.</p><p class="p1">“Been feasting from a lotta trash piles recently? Little scamp. Yeah, you look it.”</p><p class="p1">It was only this past month when Levi would look down at his stomach, that he realized the curve of his ribs no longer poked out further than the rest of him.</p><p class="p1">What a thought.</p><p class="p1">But there were some truths in Kenny’s words. Levi had procured something of a meal in the last few days — half-rotten potatoes dug out from a bin and a campsite he had overtaken by force. The boys in charge (around his same age, but what felt like fifteen meters taller) had somehow acquired a cooking pot, stolen water and matches, and were setting alight newspapers when Levi had found them by way of a smoke trail. He had cut off the fingers of only one of them — slammed the boy’s hand against the stone flooring and followed it immediately with a knife — before they understood the scenario and ran off with a blood trail behind them.</p><p class="p1">What had proven most difficult was not boiling the potatoes, but prioritizing his hunger over the lucky chance to get clean. To lose the feeling of dirt and blood over his skin. To have dipped a hand in the water, to have wrung a wet cloth over himself, to have boiled his clothes until the stains had been muted. Still now, the grime clung to him like a second skin.</p><p class="p1">Disgusting.</p><p class="p1">Somehow, someway, Kenny knew how to find him — always somehow could. And Kenny always had money in his pocket that he spent on booze and food and women, pushing them all over toward Levi when he wanted a good laugh, or aimed to seem like he was kind for whatever reason.</p><p class="p1">Today, Kenny’s choice of gift was whiskey. Ice cubes bobbed in two glasses. Kenny’s had long been finished and a new round had been poured. The ice melted in Levi’s; the first taste had left him retching.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t let the fucking water dilate — dilute, dile-whatever-the-fuck it. This is good stuff your uncle Kenny got you,” he said. “Grow the fuck up. You’re what, thirteen?”</p><p class="p1">Honestly, Levi wasn’t sure. Even his birthdate he was unsure of. He’d heard of seasons, but they existed on the surface. The underground being hotter for a longer set of days didn’t mean it was summer or winter or fall; and, even so, how many summer’s he’d lived through, he had no damn of an idea.</p><p class="p1">But thirteen seemed right, even if his height made him seem younger.</p><p class="p1">“I’d have three ‘o these for breakfast by the time I was that age.”</p><p class="p1">“Starting off young,” said the woman in the kitchen. Kenny’s newest woman, and the source of his current housing.</p><p class="p1">“Well, I’m a good man,” said Kenny. “Lookin’ after my boy. Teach him how to be a man. Saved him from death’s door, I did, Sharla.”</p><p class="p1">“A real sweet one, Kenny," said Sharla.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah, yeah, that mother of his. Gods rest her. ‘Least she had some good fun ‘fore she died — Levi, drink up — Yep, found this little one dying ‘an like a saint I took him in.”</p><p class="p1">The story unfurled from Kenny’s tongue, like it did with every new house change, with every new woman he ever sought to use.</p><p class="p1">Good Uncle Kenny. Kind Uncle Kenny.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Go to fucking hell, Uncle Kenny. </em>
</p><p class="p1">Levi finished off his drink.</p><p class="p1">And yet, fuck it all, Levi ached to be near that bastard of a man. In the end, even malice felt better than loneliness.</p><p class="p1">The woman made soup with big chunks of carrots and rice and potatoes and something that <em>could </em>have been meat, if Levi knew what meat tasted like. She crooned over Kenny, trailing her hands beneath his hat. A right well fool, and Kenny was sucking her dry.</p><p class="p1">Kenny glanced at his nephew. “Looking tired there.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.” Levi took a deep breath and balanced his head in his hands. His equilibrium was off. His stomach was rolling. That bastard had gotten him drunk. He was getting the spins.</p><p class="p1">Had he waited five seconds longer, everything he had eaten would have spilled from his mouth across the table. Instead, Levi threw himself back, knocking over his chair, and burst into the back garden (a patch of dirt and a rickety fence and nothing more) and vomited in the corner, the sound reverberating in his ears.</p><p class="p1">And, <em>fuck</em>, he wanted to cry. That lush soup. The watery potatoes. He had gotten to <em>eat </em>and now it was gone, sopped up by the godforsaken dirt that refused to grow a thing without the sunlight.</p><p class="p1">His eyes had begun to sting when he realized Kenny stood beside him.</p><p class="p1">“Hey, runt.” And he gave a little kick against Levi’s ribs. “Learn how to be a grown-up, and then I’ve got a deal for you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There’s rain and Eren watches it. Face pressed against the kitchen window.</p><p class="p1">“I really can’t come?”</p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">In the glass, Levi catches Eren’s reflection change. He bites his lower lip in a pout. Narrows his eyes.</p><p class="p1">So goddamn stubborn.</p><p class="p1">“This is the eighth time you’ve asked,” says Levi, wiping dry a dish. The sky outside is that somber sort of grey. A foggy mist hangs near Shiganshina’s rooftops. “I’ve kept count. Stop asking.”</p><p class="p1">“So, I’m just supposed to sit in here all day?”</p><p class="p1">“You can go outside, you know. You have an extra house key.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s raining.”</p><p class="p1">“So? Wear a coat.”</p><p class="p1">“This is stupid!” Eren hops down from the counter. He kicks his foot in the air with agitation. “I always get to go with you! To the precinct, at least.”</p><p class="p1">“Congratulations on that,” Levi deadpans. “Sorry the streak has ended. Here, finish this juice.”</p><p class="p1">“I don’t want it!”</p><p class="p1">“Fine.” Levi dumps the remainder of the cup down the sink. Eren scampers over, throws himself against the counter with a <em>wham!</em>, and watches the apple juice swirl down the drain.</p><p class="p1">“But. I can have some later, though, right?”</p><p class="p1">“Fucking shit you can.”</p><p class="p1">In his bedroom, Levi dresses. Combs his hair. Brushes his teeth. Eren stands awkwardly at the end of the hallway while he waits for Levi to come out. He’s been odd and anxious all morning; combatant and needy. When Levi grabs his coat near the front door, Eren grabs onto his pant leg and doesn’t let go.</p><p class="p1">Levi sighs. He pats a nonchalant hand against the side of Eren’s head.</p><p class="p1">“You wanna go to Armin’s house? I’m sure his old man is home.”</p><p class="p1">Eren shakes his head. His face buried in Levi’s leg.</p><p class="p1">“What’s that drunk’s name? Hannes? You know him. How about him?”</p><p class="p1">Another shake of the head.</p><p class="p1">“Eren, come on, seriously. I’ve got field work all day and so does everyone else. No one’s at the precinct to watch you.”</p><p class="p1">The fists gripping the fabric of Levi’s pants tighten. Levi hears the little mutter “<em>Okay</em>…” before Eren lets go. He stands defeated with his arms at his sides. Won’t even make eye contact.</p><p class="p1">“Chin up,” Levi says in parting. With his open palm, he gives a few gentle, tiny taps against Eren’s left cheek.Ruffles his hair, and shuts the door behind him.</p><p class="p1">He’s parked along the front garden of Hange’s apartment when he realizes: <em>Since the murder</em>…</p><p class="p1">
  <em>It’s Eren’s first time alone. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“—and now that lead is totally <em>ruined</em>.”</p><p class="p1">“Most likely, the finger prints were already smeared. Still, this is why we shouldn’t take on fresh cadets.”</p><p class="p1">“It’s not that,” says Hange. “Moblit’s great with everything else—”</p><p class="p1">(Levi considers what that ‘everything else’ is; ponders how, so early in the morning, the man had already been in Hange’s house when Levi had come to pick her up. And, why Moblit stayed, even after they had left).</p><p class="p1">“—and I’d trust him with my life,” Hange concludes.</p><p class="p1">“Then the mistake was trusting him with the tape.”</p><p class="p1">Hange groans into her palms. The smack of the car’s windshield wipers can’t drone out the sound.</p><p class="p1">Levi sighs. “Don’t sweat.” He blares his car horn at a rogue driver. <em>Learn how to fucking drive in the rain. </em>“Your revolutionary tape method doesn’t even work most the time.”</p><p class="p1">It had, in <em>some</em> instances, of course, because sometimes there was just dumb luck in the world — sometimes there was enough of a fingerprint residue for the tacky bottom of a tapestrip to copy whorls and edges. And such whorls and edges could be compared to the ink imprints the precinct kept on file. But such perfect conditions were far and few. Smearing happened often, both in the heat of a crime and after.</p><p class="p1">“But it <em>could</em> have worked!” bites Hange.</p><p class="p1">“Then fire him.”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not heartless!”</p><p class="p1">“Pssh.”</p><p class="p1">The rain’s gotten harder, pelting down with a force that makes Levi hope Eren would stay cooped up inside. He should have given him some homework, or a task to do…</p><p class="p1">“Hey, Levi.”</p><p class="p1">“Hm?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s just us at the house today. Anything that needs to stay untouched, I’ve already roped off. I didn’t have the blood cleaned up yet, since I’m still trying to put the pieces together. Just thought I’d let you know.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Levi mutters. He parks the car alongside the Jaeger household. “Sure.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s an older house. Perhaps it had been esteemed in the hundred years before when it first was built; back when Shiganshina was just a clustered town on the edge of the empire. Now old and dated with its dark wood and cracked stone, it loomed like a monster, uninhabited and alone.</p><p class="p1">Yet, some semblance of a life was apparent in the small details that lingered. The wooden outline of window panes were painted white. Along the front of the house, where a perimeter of slab stone lay, Carla Jaeger kept her potted plants in rows; they drooped over the edges of their terra-cotta pots. Rain dripped from their leaves and sank between cracks in the stone.</p><p class="p1">There was a back garden with a single oak tree. A clothesline had been tied from the sturdiest branch and brought across the yard to be tied upon a house beam. Some white sheets still dangled, now drenched in the rain, swinging in the wind like heavy ghosts.</p><p class="p1">The back garden gave way to two sets of doors: a latched set that led to a basement, and a back kitchen door.</p><p class="p1">From the front entrance of the house, the main door led directly into a den where a black iron fireplace had once produced heat from the corner. Levi eyed a coat rack and a line of shoes along the entry way — proof that the Jaegers had once lived some semblance of a normal life. Coats of varying sizes still hung upon their notches.</p><p class="p1">“You’ll notice,” says Hange upon entering. She sweeps her hand across the room: “Blood stains on the walls. Especially there, where the bodies of the two unidentified men were. The sort of splatter pattern seems consistent with quick stabbing motions — pulling in and pulling out quickly in succession.”</p><p class="p1">Levi touches the peach-colored wallpaper, his hand parallel to the largest blood spattering, at the height of his waist.</p><p class="p1">A kill made by a child.</p><p class="p1">“Carla Jaeger was here,” says Hange. Her boot heels resound against the dark wood flooring. She stands above a roped off area, brown, dried blood upon the floor shining meekly in the lamplight.</p><p class="p1">“She was killed on her back, on the floor here. I want you to notice something: it’s an even pool of blood. I don’t think she was thrashing while she was stabbed. I want to tell you something else,” says Hange. She catches Levi’s eyes. “Her neck was broken, but we don't think that's what killed her.”</p><p class="p1">“Alright.” Levi crosses his arms. His eyes trail across the stain. She was killed beneath the very wide, open archway that separated the living room from the dining room. “And Grisha Jaeger?”</p><p class="p1">“Here.” And Hange points nearby, some feet away within the main room. “He was lying facedown.”</p><p class="p1">“Facedown?”</p><p class="p1">Hange nods. “His blood pooled in his body that way as well. He died facedown and wasn’t moved afterward. ‘Died where he landed,’ if I may use that phrase.”</p><p class="p1">“Were his legs straight?”</p><p class="p1">“They were.”</p><p class="p1">Levi glances at the wall nearest where the body had been; notes the dried blood that had landed lower than the rest.</p><p class="p1">“He was kneeling,” says Levi.</p><p class="p1">“That’s what we’re considering. He was stabbed frontward, here,” and she pokes a finger into the flesh above her collarbone. “And fell forward once he lost a significant amount of blood and collapsed. Puncturing this artery would have meant he died within twenty to thirty seconds, if not sooner. Note the thick streaks of random blood on the floor, in front of where his body was. That artery was pumping high velocity blood out through the puncture.”</p><p class="p1">“What a mess.”</p><p class="p1">“To put it lightly. Let me show you the rest of the house. It’s in a better state.”</p><p class="p1">Levi takes a last look about the room. Notes the long, emerald-toned settee pressed against the back wall, a side table to its left, a thin-armed chair angled obliquely to its right. There was phonograph with its brassy horn, sat upon a cabinet. A dulled looking rug, it’s intricate white and red and black ornate patterns worn down by its day to day use.</p><p class="p1">A family had existed here, once. Eren had exited here, once.</p><p class="p1">Overstepping Carla’s bloodstain, they entered into the dining room, wherein sat a humble, square table with space for four chairs. An old, yellowed lamp hung above and a long cabinet, housing inexpensive plates, bowls, and cutlery, flanked the leftmost wall. The room opened into a single long hallway that led toward the back of the house. Mikasa’s room was through the first door.</p><p class="p1">“She kept it plain,” says Hange, carefully cracking it open. The bedroom was small with only enough room for a bed, a desk and its chair, and a dresser. There was no decoration apart from a set of school books upon the desk. Next-door was the washroom with a toilet, sink, and tub; the only one in the house. They continued down the hallway.</p><p class="p1">“Eren’s room,” and Hange opens the door. It’s not much different from Mikasa’s — that same small space with similar furniture, but Eren had made it his own. Drawings and maps had been hung upon the walls. Old clothes left on the floor for his mother to clean. Sticks and dried flowers and rocks the boy had collected along the windowsill. A bed still unmade. Toy swords, made from wood, in the corner. Picture books and history books — the kid seemed obsessed with history — were dogeared in sporadic places. A book titled “Eldia and Its Place in the World” lay open on his desk.</p><p class="p1">Levi thought of the white, sterile room he had given Eren as his new space. The utter difference, the coldness, between that room and this.</p><p class="p1">It didn’t sit well in his thoughts.</p><p class="p1">“Then at the end of the hallway,” says Hange, continuing, “You have the kitchen to the left, through that open doorway, and the master bedroom through the closed door to the right.” She shows Levi the master bedroom first, which proves to be unremarkable. Grisha’s numerous medical books line shelves. Carla’s half-finished sewing projects lay over a rocking chair. They continue on.</p><p class="p1">With its windows facing the back garden, the kitchen feels bright and airy, or at least has the potential to be. Rain streaks down the wide windows which look over the sheets that bob between the house and the tree. A black rotary phone sits upon the counter, the receiver resting neatly in its spot.</p><p class="p1">“Was the emergency call made on this phone?”</p><p class="p1">Hange nods. “Mikasa Ackerman called the police from this phone, yeah.” </p><p class="p1">There’s an open kitchen drawer where a row of knives are neatly laid within, with an obvious absence of one knife amongst the rest. Levi muses over the empty spot.</p><p class="p1">“Was this touched by our team?”</p><p class="p1">“Not at all,” says Hange. “It was open like that when the first officers arrived on scene.”</p><p class="p1">The uniformity of the knives, undisturbed in their line-up, makes something obvious:</p><p class="p1">“This drawer was pulled out slowly.”</p><p class="p1">“Or was already open when the knife was taken,” counters Hange. “Whatever the case, there was never a force strong enough to jumble them out of their rows.”</p><p class="p1">They walk alongside the back garden, whatever footprints that had been left behind had already been long covered by the wind and rain of the past two weeks. Hange assures Levi that photographs had been taken of anything that couldn’t be left in place, and they circle out to the front of the house.</p><p class="p1">“I think,” says Hange. “That’s all Erwin wanted me to show you.” Her glasses are thick with rainwater. She jerks them off and rubs them against her top.</p><p class="p1">“Is Eren’s room an active investigation scene?”</p><p class="p1">“No,” says Hange. “We looked around, as we did in all rooms, but found nothing of substance. Why?”</p><p class="p1">“I think I’ll bring him some of his things.”</p><p class="p1">“Ah. Yeah. That would be nice of you. I, um, keep forgetting he has nothing of his own right now.”</p><p class="p1">Levi enters through the back door alone — there’s no need to trail rainwater or mud through the main crime scene — and enters into Eren’s room. Enters into a life that had once been lived with a simple nativity. He runs a hand across book spines, his fingers tracing the indented titles, before he stacks a large number of them on Eren’s desk. He gathers trinkets and toys — a wooden spinning top and board games. He opens a few dresser drawers and pulls out random sets of clothing.</p><p class="p1">A floorboard squeaks beneath his heel. Levi rocks back on it.</p><p class="p1">It’s loose.</p><p class="p3">He tests it again before squatting onto the ground. He slides a fingernail along the edge its edge, feels a little give, and pulls the plank upward, craning his neck to peer below it.</p><p class="p3">He sees a key.</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">Their walkthrough of the Jaeger crime scene had taken up the morning. Between traffic to the precinct and a catch-up on leads in his own cases, the early morning had dragged out into the late evening. He drives Hange home long after the sun had set, wherein she mentions Moblit’s cooking; tells Levi it’s been a while since they’ve had a drink together.</p><p class="p3">He stays late. He doesn’t want to stay late. There’s no great need for him to stay for supper or three glasses of wine. But the key burns in his pocket — he waits for the right time to mention its discovery, wonders why he never brings it up. Dedicates to stay until he does, but never says a thing. The process repeats.</p><p class="p3">An hour past midnight, Hange’s passed out on the carpet. Moblit’s fanning her face with paperwork. Levi grunts a goodbye and heads out the door.</p><p class="p3">It’s almost two in the morning when he opens his own.</p><p class="p3">There’s a dim light: a single lamp lit in the living room. It coats the apartment in that warm, lonely glow that can only exist in the latest of hours. The surrounding areas — the kitchen, the hallway — are dark along the room’s outer edges. The curtains have been pulled closed, the murmur of the rain hidden behind them.</p><p class="p3">Eren’s asleep on his side, haloed in this dim light, on the white settee.</p><p class="p3">Levi closes the door behind him and slips off his shoes in silence. He adjusts the heavy, large box between his arms, shifting the weight of Eren’s books and knickknacks within. In socked feet, he moves into the kitchen, using his elbow to flick on the light.</p><p class="p3">And there’s dinner on the table. A soppy-looking medley of vegetables and potatoes in a sheen of oil and spices. Not in the least bit appetizing, but Levi squints an eye at it all the same. There are two servings of the food at the table; in Eren’s usual seat, the plate is half-finished. Another plate with untouched food waits where Levi would have been.</p><p class="p3">Suddenly, a great guilt festers up in him. He sets the box on the table, turns off the kitchen light, and goes into the living room.</p><p class="p3">Eren’s shifted his position during the short span Levi’s been home. He’s turned, now facing the back cushions of the settee, but his breath remains shallow, still obviously asleep. He looks so young, so small. It wracks Levi with a sorrow that wraps around his chest and squeezes. His heart thrums in his ears, concurrent with the sound of rain.</p><p class="p3">When he picks Eren up, he mutters a “<em>Sorry</em>,” as he hears the boy mumble and shift in his arms. But Eren’s breathing returns to that same relaxed state quickly. His arms dangle from Levi’s shoulders, his head rests against Levi’s collarbone, and Levi holds him tightly against himself as he brings the boy to his bedroom. He places Eren beneath the covers (never-mind he was still in his day clothes, teeth likely unbrushed, but... whatever) and shuts Eren’s door with a meticulous silence.</p><p class="p3">Levi’s just finished cleaning the kitchen when he hears the bedroom door open. Eren comes to stand near the kitchen table.</p><p class="p3">“Dinner wasn't terrible,” Levi lies (he hadn't even dared to taste it). “Thank you for making it.”</p><p class="p3">Eren smiles groggily. He looks at the box on the table; it’s too tall for him to see into it. “What’s that?”</p><p class="p3">Levi wipes his damp hands on his apron. Placing both hands in the box, he settles a stack on books onto the table, clothing, and toys. Eren watches with wide eyes.</p><p class="p3">“Those are mine,” he says, dumbfounded. “Can I touch them?”</p><p class="p3">“You don’t have to ask me that.”</p><p class="p3">Eren reaches for the wooden spinning top first. He cups it in his hands, thumbs smoothing over the polished wood. “My dad made me this,” he whispers. He stares at it in reverence, his head bowed as he runs fingers across its rounded edges.</p><p class="p3">He exchanges that item for another, a yellow knit sweater that he presses his face into. He stays still for a moment before muffling a sob against it.</p><p class="p3">And Levi steps around the table, kneels down in front of Eren, and pulls him into an embrace. The boy shakes and cries against him, his little body going slack in the hug. The sweater pinned between Levi’s shoulder and Eren’s face.</p><p class="p3">“It...” Eren chokes out, “It smells like my mom.”</p><p class="p3">Levi lets him cry. Holds him in the silence of the dark, sleepy house until all the boy can do is hiccup. The crying spell passed, Levi lifts him in his arms again, shifting Eren’s weight to a single arm, and pulls out a book from the stack before he turns off the kitchen light.</p><p class="p3">He's got a stinging, horrible pity gnawing at his soul; he's got memories of his own lonely life, that damn kid he once was, weighing down on his shoulders. Levi grips Eren all the tighter.</p><p class="p3">He settles Eren in his bed beneath the covers, before coming to sit over the quilts beside him, his back against the headboard. Levi cracks open the book — he had grabbed one at random — and settles an arm over Eren’s shoulder. The boy leans against him and sniffles.</p><p class="p3">He's no good with children. He doesn't know how to act or coddle, and maybe Kenny hadn't either. But, maybe Kenny had never tried.</p><p class="p3">“‘The History of Eldia for Children,’” Levi reads aloud. He pauses. “This sounds boring. You want me to read this one?”</p><p class="p3">Eren nods against him.</p><p class="p3">“Alright. ‘The first Eldians were born on the island of Paradis and ninety-eight percent of the Eldian population live there today. Eldians should be proud of their esteemed royal family and the exciting mythology that immortalizes their culture…’”</p><p class="p3">“Detective Levi?”</p><p class="p3">“Hm?”</p><p class="p3">“Why do you think the rest of the world hates us?”</p><p class="p3">“I don’t know,” Levi sighs. “It’s how politics work.”</p><p class="p3">“I would have… liked to go visit other places. Instead of being stuck here forever.”</p><p class="p3">Levi trails a hand through Eren’s hair, absentmindedly. The words had settled in his soul. “When I lived in the underground,” he starts, “I thought the surface seemed so vast. I wanted to see it and get lost in it. And then, when I got up here, I realized pretty quickly just how tiny this big, vast place really was.”</p><p class="p3">Eren’s looking up at him.</p><p class="p3">Levi continues: “I don’t know why we’re the scorn of the world. I don’t think anyone knows why. Just like how we don’t know why some people are born in the underground and some aren’t.”</p><p class="p3">“Would you wanna go see the world?”</p><p class="p3">“Yeah, of course.”</p><p class="p3">Eren sighs against him and goes quiet. Three pages deeper into the book, Eren says:</p><p class="p3">“I’m really happy you’re home.”</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, thank you so much for everything you've said. As long as there is obvious interest in this work, I plan to keep it going until the end. Thoughts, no matter how big or small, are utterly appreciated. &lt;3 </p><p>See you next chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A thousand apologies due to the wait for this chapter. I took the extra time to make sure I've got most of this story done becauuuuseeeee...</p><p>- Beginning June 28, 2020, new chapters will be published at 12:00 pm PST every Sunday. </p><p>* Please note before reading: this chapter details drug use/abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">Eren had begged against cremating them when the topic was broached. Fallen to his knees and bound his arms around Levi’s shin, yelling with tears in his eyes and only gripping tighter when Levi attempted to throw him off.</p><p class="p1">“He is next of kin,” says Hange at the story. She balances the handset of a rotary phone between her shoulder and ear. A dial tone sounds on the other line. “So, in the end it is his choice. His parents never left a will, as I’ve mentioned before.”</p><p class="p1">So, they’re buried without a funeral, occupying two modest plots in a cemetery just outside of Shiganshina where the weeds grow thick and the headstones have all half-crumbled. Levi takes Eren there the day after Carla and Grisha are set in the ground. Standing beside their graves, Levi imagines them — their stomaches stitched back together on the autopsy table, their pale bodies stinking of formaldehyde in their plain, cedar caskets.</p><p class="p1">Eren’s squatting in front of the grave of his mother. Upon their death, the Jaegers had left behind little money; just enough to fulfill the burial costs and erect two plain, wooden plants that would serve as grave markers. Eren leans against Carla’s, carving her name into the textured wood with a knife.</p><p class="p1">“Don’t misspell anything,” says Levi, gruffly — he's seen Eren's random scribblings and writings full of errors before. He watches the boy's hand shake around the handle of the knife. Eren's finished carving out Carla's first name when Levi adds, “And... Don’t ruin my good knife either.”</p><p class="p1">They’re horrifically ugly, the grave markers. Roughly cut planks that had been dyed a simple dark tone, no higher than the hip. A child’s handwriting scratched onto the surface. But, it’s enough to give some meaning.</p><p class="p1">When the sun starts setting, Levi closes his book and stands from beneath the half-dead tree he had been under. Eren’s a dark vignette against the horizon; standing with his arms limp at his sides in front of the two graves. His shoulders are shaking, his teeth boring into his lower lip. When Levi pats a hand against Eren’s left shoulder, he can feel the kid trembling beneath the surface.</p><p class="p1">But, he isn’t crying.</p><p class="p1">There’s something in those eyes; deep and cruel and heinous. They’re fixed to a point, to the scrawl of his father’s name upon woodwork. He’s sneering, teeth bared; breath sputtering in hot, heavy pants. His fingernails press deep enough to break skin or bruise his fisted palms. He’s shaking from first all the way to the crest of his shoulders— toxin in his veins, red hate in his vision. He’s only nine-years-old, but Levi sees — at last — everything that Eren is.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">There’s this staunch part of Levi that <em>somehow</em>. <em>fucking</em>. <em>knows</em>. that the key burning into the palm of his hand is connected to that damn basement.</p><p class="p3">It could be a haunch. Nothing more, nothing less. A logical connection of threads (it came form the Jaeger home; all other doors were open and without need of the key; the only place he hadn’t seen was the basement).</p><p class="p3">Still.</p><p class="p3"><em>Still</em>…</p><p class="p3">He doesn’t know why he takes his time in mentioning it. Or, he does, but loathes the thought of sentiment hindering a case. And in the end, days pass. Eren sorts his books, makes something of a meek little personality in his once-bland room. Wears his old clothes again. Still screams in the night.</p><p class="p3">And Levi holds onto that key.</p><p class="p3">Near the week’s end, Erwin says: “They will see one another, for the first time, at their elementary school on Monday. And, at this point, we can’t forcibly keep Eren and Mikasa apart. Our solid proof is lacking. <em>Everything</em> we have is lacking, except our suspicions. ”</p><p class="p3">“You’re that convinced, huh?”</p><p class="p3">“It’s all on a haunch.”</p><p class="p3">It seems to be for all of them.</p><p class="p3">The key continues burning in his pocket.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s a rotten idea, as are most of Erwin’s ideas, but it’s a functional one.</p><p class="p1">“We should put a bug in the washroom, too,” Hange mutters, more to herself than to Levi or Moblit. The tiny listening device dangles from her fingers, hanging from a thin, black wire.</p><p class="p1">Levi snorts. “Do whatever. I’m not the one listening to whatever noise these things pick up.”</p><p class="p1">Moblit whispers: “But I am.”</p><p class="p1">“Should we, though?” And Hange shifts on her feet, the sudden motion shaking Eren’s bookcase as she tugs a wire taunt. “In case they go in there?”</p><p class="p1">It feels wrong, almost, this invasion of privacy. There are three small listening devices in Eren’s room alone; five out in the living room, two in kitchen, one hidden beneath a lamp in the hallway.</p><p class="p1">“Do you really suspect,” Levi deadpans, “That they would hold some case-breaking conversation while one takes a shit?”</p><p class="p1">“I dunno. Maybe.” Hange shrugs. “I have.”</p><p class="p1">They install one just in case.</p><p class="p1">Everyone’s antsy. Light on their feet and quick in tone. Where all else seemed uncontrollable — Eren and Mikasa’s destined meeting with their return to school; the cold state the case is edging toward — this was a last chance at some sense of management.</p><p class="p1">Hange shuts her briefcase. She hands the heavy bag to Moblit. “That’s it, then.” She gives a last look about each room, keen to find any trace of noticeable wires. “I’ll let Erwin know we’re ready to set them live. I’ll go get our girl, and then we’ll reconvene with Erwin tonight. Need help taking the bugs down tomorrow?”</p><p class="p1">Levi shakes his head. He’s done this enough times before.</p><p class="p1">It’s a cold spring, but that Sunday is bright, causing long, dark shadows to rest against the floor as the sun lingers deeper on the horizon. Both Hange and Moblit are gone when Eren returns from his errands.</p><p class="p1">The boy unpacks the groceries — coffee beans (the real ones imported, expensive, and difficult to find), milk, bread, and cigarettes. He hands his written shopping list off to Levi, whom raises an eyebrow at the checkmark scrawled beside each item.</p><p class="p1">“Took you long enough,” he says.</p><p class="p1">Eren huffs. “I went to four stores to find your stupid coffee. One stupid, old hag even told me I shouldn’t be shopping without a parent. So I told her, ‘And how can I do that if I don’t have any parents?’”</p><p class="p1">“Glad you’re using the loss to your advantage.” Levi sets the coffee canister (red, made of tin, and shining in the light) next to the three others in the kitchen cabinet.</p><p class="p1">“Well, what else could I do?” Eren grumbles. He sighs and crawls onto a kitchen chair. “Go get you?”</p><p class="p1">“I’m not your parent.”</p><p class="p1">“I know. I don’t even see you like that.” Eren swings his legs beneath the table, both kicking at separate intervals. He groans and rests his chin against the light-toned wood. Watches intensely as Levi puts away the few groceries and averts his eyes with a blush when he’s caught.</p><p class="p1">“Uhm,” Eren mumbles, still looking at the wood flooring. Levi grabs for the shiny, new pack of cigarettes on the table beside him. “Can I tell you about what I read today? From my history book?”</p><p class="p1">And, fuck, Levi’s dying for a cigarette about now; seeing a fresh pack drags up that familiar, addictive want that feels like a pull in his chest.</p><p class="p1">He sighs. “Don’t make it too long.”</p><p class="p1">“Um, okay!” Eren sits upright, slamming his hands against the table for dramatic effect. “So, I don't know if you knew this, but Eldians didn’t always live on this island. We used to live in a lot of places, like, like Marley or the desert, or on big places like mountains. But then, maybe because there were so many of us, the rest of the countries got angry, so everyone came home to Paradis and we were asked to stay here ever since. Well, unless you’re, like, some government person, or something. So that’s why no other countries allow everyday Eldians like us to visit.”</p><p class="p1">“Uh-huh.” Levi’s trying his best; got his face propped in his hand as he sits at the kitchen table to listen with feigned interest. But, his mind is on that damn pack of cigarettes calling his name from the kitchen drawer.</p><p class="p1">Eren looks so eager. “Did you know that?”</p><p class="p1">Levi had learned to read at (probably) fifteen — hadn’t held a hard-cover book until he was somewhere near twenty-one. Up on the surface, he had wasted time in any book available in the library or corner store or whatever gathered dust on Erwin’s bookcases, sopping out big words he had never heard; damning himself for mistakes in pronunciation until Hange gave him a proper lesson.</p><p class="p1">Thus: “I did,” he says, remembering a few books and articles on the matter. “I know of it.”</p><p class="p1">Eren nods. He takes a breath, and then there’s something off about him. The great gusto he had, now oddly muted into a tense and anxious stare. He shifts awkwardly in his seat. He’s staring at his hands.</p><p class="p1">He speaks: “But I—” and he pauses. His brows and lips twitch. He tries again, “I don’t think that story’s true.”</p><p class="p1">And, finally, Levi’s mind dismisses the cigarettes — for just a moment.</p><p class="p1">“My dad...” says Eren. “My dad told me something different.”</p><p class="p1">Eren’s eyes glance upward, looking for something in Levi’s face — maybe some sort of affirmation or denial, but Levi remains silent, intently watching without expression. Eren frowns. Straightens his face. Takes a breath. Continues: “He told me that Eldians aren’t allowed anywhere else because of a different reason.”</p><p class="p1">“And what’s the reason?”</p><p class="p1">The kid looks so uncomfortable; he’s pulled back into himself, arms curled around his chest and his eyes caught on something on the floor. He says, rather timidly, “I’ll tell you later, okay?”</p><p class="p1">“Might as well tell me now. I’m interested.”</p><p class="p1">Eren shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”</p><p class="p1">Levi sighs and rises from the table. “How about this… I make you deal.” He cracks open the kitchen drawer and curses when he feels his stomach leap at what’s within. “I’ll tell you something exciting…” Fucking <em>hell</em>, his hands are practically shaking as he grabs the cigarette box. “…In return for your dad’s wild history idea.” He glances over his shoulder. “Deal?”</p><p class="p1">Eren’s face is red. His fists balled in his lap. After great thought, he gives a little nod.</p><p class="p1">“Alright, good.” Levi pulls a cigarette out with his teeth. He says around it, “You start.”</p><p class="p1">Smoke trails out the kitchen window. Levi hangs the top half of his body from the banister— a desperate attempt to keep the heady scent out of the apartment; his arms are outstretched into the open air, a white cigarette between two fingers. He crosses an ankle behind the other. Looks out onto the rooftops and the pinking sky behind them. His mind crackles with another pull of nicotine. He glances back at Eren, prompting him to go on.</p><p class="p1">And Eren, still at the kitchen table, takes a deep breath. “My dad said,” he begins, and his voice is almost too quiet to rise above the noise of the city streets. “My dad said… A long time ago, we used to be titans.”</p><p class="p1"><em>Huh</em>.</p><p class="p1">Below, a car veers around a street corner, coming fast, fast, fast. It’s recognizable — a dingy, yellow car with deep dents on its sides. So obviously and recognizably Hange’s.</p><p class="p1">Levi mutters, “Like the myth.”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah.” And Eren swallows. “Like the myth… but… not.”</p><p class="p1">“Hm.” Levi stubs out his half finished cigarette and washes his hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing harshly at the tips of his fingers until the scent is completely gone. “Do you believe him?”</p><p class="p1">Eren’s gone quiet again. Only when Levi glances back does the kid mutter, “I don’t know.”</p><p class="p1">It’s a lie. So utterly apparent in how uncertain his voice sounds. But, Levi drops it. Grisha Jaeger was a doctor, not a historian, and every man has their odd quirk of a belief.</p><p class="p1">“Alright,” Levi sighs. “Guess I owe you a secret now, too.”</p><p class="p1">Eren’s eyes flutter upward. Big and green and curious. Levi slams the pack of cigarettes back into its drawer. Watches Eren’s mouth fall open when he says:</p><p class="p1">“Mikasa’s on her way here.”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Nepenthe. Nepenthe. Nepenthe. A touch of the tongue against teeth when the word is spoken; a burn in the nostrils and a spark to the brain when inhaled.</p><p class="p3">Thin lines, beautiful lines; neat, parallel rows of white rested atop the dining table. No longer than a finger, no thicker than a pencil. Levi had used the edge of a knife to cut the powder; had fussed over the neatness with a silent frustration. Had cursed when his hands shook just a little too much.</p><p class="p3">Kenny had his leg extended upon the table; the the flat soles of his boots too close for Levi’s comfort — and this table had been polished just an hour ago. His fingers were threaded behind his head, his throat producing a happy hum. He rolled his neck from one shoulder to the other and sighed.</p><p class="p3">“How many nights you ‘been up, runt?”</p><p class="p3">“Three.”</p><p class="p3">“Ah, three,” Kenny repeated. “Ain’t your uncle just good to you. Helping you get a lotta work done. And, shit!” Kenny cracked a laugh. “What’d I say a year ago, when this shit hit the market? I said: ‘This’ll be the rich man’s whiskey.’ Now look at this, what we got on this table — uncle’s little present for you, with a price. No regular fucker can afford this, no sir.”</p><p class="p3">“Uh-huh. You find out what it’s made of?”</p><p class="p3">“Who knows? Who cares.”</p><p class="p3">Levi felt like a firecracker ready to drop into water. His head was so damn tired — sloppy, soggy, heavy with fog; maybe a deep enough breath could send him to sleep, but then he had those nerves; those pin-pricking nerves on his arms and legs and fingertips and skinskinskin just ready ready ready ready to jump from his body and run. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p class="p3">“So, listen,” and Kenny straightened his legs against the floor. Leaned across the table and cocked his hat. “You had your little trial run, like I made you do. You know what I’m selling and why people’ll want it. So, let me tell you what I’m needing…”</p><p class="p3">And he unfolded his hands, laying his palms flat atop the table. “I need a runner,” he said, and his voice was stern and steady. “More than that, runt, I need to keep squealers quiet. I don’t have all the time in the day to slit tongues. You understand?”</p><p class="p3">“Tch.” Levi chided. “You don’t even know if I can do that.”</p><p class="p3">“Don’t fucking take me for a fool, you little shit,” Kenny spat. “I see those damn thugs you got following after your every damn word. And, I know this damn hideout you got here takes a lot of damn work. You’ve been playing dirty since birth, you little fucker. Since I pinched all the damn lice off your head and gave you your first bite of damn meat. And here you are, pretending you ain’t got a damn Ackerman talent in you. Little fuck.”</p><p class="p3">Levi raised a brow; kept his expression otherwise calm.</p><p class="p3">“That’s our last name, then?” Almost twenty years old, and finally there’s a second part to his name. Ack-er-man. Ackerman. He wanted to taste the word on his tongue; wanted to know how it sounded in his own voice.</p><p class="p3">Kenny’s fist hit the table and all those pretty lines scattered up and sideways.</p><p class="p3">“Shut the fuck up and listen. You want a good reason for the work? Fine. I already know it: there’s gonna be good money in this. Enough to buy our pathetic way onto the surface. That wet your pallet, runt?”</p><p class="p3">And, yeah, maybe it did.</p><p class="p3">But Levi snorted. It was his sense of pride, but he didn’t bother resetting those thin, white lines. He let them lay scattered; the thin, paper tube he had been fastening — had rolled between his fingers — he laid to abandon on the table.</p><p class="p3">He said, simply: “Don’t be dreaming.”</p><p class="p3">“I ain’t,” and Kenny squared his shoulders. He dropped his voice with a sneer.“This is the closest you’ll ever be to the surface—”</p><p class="p3">Fresh air. Green trees. A sky that changed colors. That musky rot of the underground gone, gone, gone.</p><p class="p3">“—And this stuff’ll have you wanting. Just you wait.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Hange flicks the tape-player on.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“<em>Eren.”</em></p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Mikasa, stop. I’m fine. I’m fine!”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“They’re keeping you here. Why?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Where else can I go?”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“With me. With Armin. Even with him, if you have to—”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“No way in hell!”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“— but not here. You can’t be with these detectives. They’re not trying to protect you, Eren. Don’t trust them, please. You can’t.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I don’t. Calm down. I know what I’m doing. I’m fine, Mikasa.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“I’ve been worried... I mean, the thought of losing you — I can’t lose anyone else. I promised your dad I would protect you.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“God. I can take care of myself. I don’t always need you around.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Stop it. Don’t be dumb. You know what we’re up against, on both sides. You get angry. I know you get angry so easily, but you just need to stop and think. Let me help you.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Go away, Mikasa.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>“Eren!”</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The dial switches off.</p><p class="p1">“And at that point,” begins Hange, and the sudden lack of recorded voices leaves a heavy and pressing silence, “Is when they re-entered the living room and Eren came to find us on the balcony.”</p><p class="p1">“I see,” mutters Erwin. He rests his arms atop the long, oak desk in his home office. “Any other notable recordings?”</p><p class="p1">Hange shakes her head. “I regret that we stayed in the apartment, actually. I feel that we would have had more open conversations between the two of them, had Levi and I been entirely elsewhere.”</p><p class="p1">“No matter,” Erwin nods. His eyes glance down at his notebook. He taps the edge of his pen against paper. “Miss Ackerman mentions a ‘him.’”</p><p class="p1">“Indeed,” says Hange. She settles her chair just beside Erwin’s desk. “It’s such a vague mention, but whomever this ‘him’ is, he’s important enough to not need to be mention by name or specific context. They both know who he is.”</p><p class="p1">“So the question is: whom would both Eren and Mikasa be close to.” Erwin glances across the room. “Levi? Thoughts?”</p><p class="p1">“Hannes,” Hange interjects.</p><p class="p1">“Doesn’t make sense,” Levi sighs. “He’s an officer. If they’re both paranoid about detectives, it would be the same with a police officer.”</p><p class="p1">Hange sighs. “I don’t get why she thinks we’re that scary…”</p><p class="p1">“Think about your damn questions, shitty four eyes,” Levi hisses. “You make it so obvious you’re trying to pin the crime on children.”</p><p class="p1">“Hey!”</p><p class="p1">“So we don’t have an answer. Then, another question.” Erwin interjects. He circles a note that he had written — his handwriting a flowing cursive. “‘You know what we’re up against, on both sides.’ Spoken by Miss Ackerman. We know where we, as the precinct, stand in this statement, but who is the other side?”</p><p class="p1">“It’s all a guessing game,” Levi grumbles. “We could just rely on Occam’s Razor. Easiest answer: it’s our department on one side, and the true murderers on the other.”</p><p class="p1">“Justice versus injustice,” says Hange with a lilt. “But that’s assuming they’re innocent.”</p><p class="p1">“At this point,” Levi sighs. He crosses an ankle over an extended leg. “Why wouldn’t we assume that?”</p><p class="p1">Erwin doesn’t glance up from his notepad. “Detective Hange, your response?”</p><p class="p1">“Both Eren and Mikasa have been unreliable in their testimonies.”</p><p class="p1">“They’re traumatized kids,” Levi bites. “Most idiots barely remember what color underwear they’re wearing.”</p><p class="p1">Hange continues, undeterred, “The supposed motive of the murderers is within question as well. Eren and Mikasa both claimed the attacks were carried out in order to kidnap Miss Ackerman for the purpose of human trafficking. But—”</p><p class="p1">She pulls a file from her leather-bound case. Slides it toward where Levi stands at the other end of the desk. “That would make this the second occurrence of this sort in her life. Have you seen this case file? Do you know why Mikasa Ackerman came to live within the Jaeger household?”</p><p class="p1">Levi slides his eyes along the typed notes. <em>Why is his stomach in knots?</em> “I haven’t seen this before.”</p><p class="p1">“Eren’s never mentioned it?”</p><p class="p1">“No.”</p><p class="p1">“They killed three people between the two of them. Unlike with what we’re dealing with now, everything in <em>this</em> case checked out. We were able to identify the slave traders and their network, and were able to eventually obliterate the trafficking gang from the root up. I’m not saying trafficking no longer exists — it does. But, the gang that knew of her and targeted her no longer exists in any form. But, now here we are again. Almost a same scenario: two parents dead, supposedly by a group of traffickers. Only this time, one of the attackers survived. Isn’t that strange?”</p><p class="p1">“Hange.” And Levi settles the report back onto the desk. “I would sooner believe <em>that</em> scenario, than the assumption of two brats luring two, or three, random men into the home and murdering not only them, but Grisha and Carla Jaeger as well. You’re talking of motive, but there’s no motive there either. Unless you expect Eren and Mikasa to plead insanity.”</p><p class="p1">Hange presses her lips together. Cocks her head. Crosses her arms. Is about to open her mouth—</p><p class="p1">“Let’s talk about this third man,” Erwin interjects. “Do we have proof he exists?”</p><p class="p1">“Somewhat,” sighs Hange. From her same collection of files she pulls out a photograph of a shoe print and a vial containing three hairs — blonde. “This is all of the shaky proof we have of a third assailant. I would also like to note that both Eren and Mikasa described the clothing and height of this assailant differently. And as you know, we have the knife riddle as well.”</p><p class="p1">“How about hair color?” Erwin asks. “On this third assailant, what color did they say his hair was?”</p><p class="p1">Hange passes the vial to Erwin. “Brown. But all of the Jaegers have brown hair, and without the technology to differentiate whose hair is whose, that detail won’t help us much.”</p><p class="p1">“They have a blonde friend,” says Levi. He takes the vial when passed to him. “Armin Arlert. It likely came from him.”</p><p class="p1">“But the shoe print?” Hange shakes her head, holding up the image of what is clearly a man’s shoe-size.</p><p class="p1">Levi shrugs. “They can both co-exist separately, can’t they? The hair could be from a prior visit from Arlert, and the shoe print from the crime.”</p><p class="p1">“Let’s conclude the night with this,” Erwin redirects. He snaps shut his notebook and sets aside his pen. Rubs his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. “Our priority should be proving or disproving the existence of the third assailant. We need to ID our two supposed murderers. Questioning with both Eren and Mikasa should be done on lighter terms — we need them working with us, not against us... Levi,” and Erwin props his chin on his folded hands. “I’m redirecting your current cases to Detective Zacharius. I need both you and Hange on this, now. Understood?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s disgustingly close to dawn when Levi arrives home. He’s got a headache, like a tight band wrapped around his forehead and temples. He feels jittery. Weird. Angry. His hand slips on the metal knob of the kitchen cabinet. He utters a curse. Roughly pulls it open instead. Slams his pack of cigarettes on the counter. Throws open cabinets and tears out every black listening device, the wires going taunt as he yanks them from their tape. He does the same in the living room, in the bathroom, on the balcony. He seethes beneath the surface, but he keeps his face steady, walking with ease as goes along. But, he pulls at the bugs just a little too hard, throws them into his work case with a bit too much force. Yet, his hands stay steady. And, if he can keep his hands steady, he figures, he’s fine.</p><p class="p1">But, his leg won’t stop bouncing as he sits out on the balcony, his cigarette glowing red as it hangs from his mouth. The dark sky is glowing bluer when he’s smoked it to the hilt; deep, dark clouds finally showing in the meager light. Levi lights another match, cups it around a fresh cigarette—</p><p class="p1">And then there’s a little tap on the sliding glass door.</p><p class="p1">“Detective Levi?”</p><p class="p1">Eren cracks it open just an inch. He presses his face against the slit.</p><p class="p1">Levi looks behind his shoulder. Sighs and shakes out his match and puts away his unlit cigarette.</p><p class="p1">And, “Um,” Eren mutters. He slides the door open a bit further. Shivers a bit at the rush of cold, morning air. “I can’t sleep.”</p><p class="p1">That makes two of them, then.</p><p class="p1">“Was I too loud?”</p><p class="p1">Eren shakes his head. “No, I’ve been awake for a while. I just came out because I heard you were home.” He eyes Levi timidly. Shuffles his feet. “Could I come on the balcony with you?”</p><p class="p1">Levi straightens his neck and shakes his head with a sigh. “You don’t have to ask me permission for everything. Do whatever you want.”</p><p class="p1">Eren steps out, closing the door behind him softly. He goes to the railing, just a simple line of iron bars at the heigh of shoulders, and leans against it, facing Levi.</p><p class="p1">Eren gives a brief, awkward smile.</p><p class="p1">“Were you working on a case?”</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” and Levi doesn’t bother to nod or a smile. “Your’s.”</p><p class="p1">Eren blinks rapidly. His breath hitches. Caught off-guard by the honest answer, clearly. But, “Oh,” he whispers, his voice tight. He says nothing more.</p><p class="p1">Levi skids the sole of his slipper against the cement flooring. It’s a small space — only enough room for two small chairs and a square table no larger than a forearm, and even then the space is cramped. A trail of smoke, white and thin, floats lazily from the single ashtray; a long dead cigarette breathing out its remains. The sky is only getting bluer.</p><p class="p1">Eren looks anxious. He rocks on his heels and traces his toes around the cracked edges of the ground. He looks so small and so tired. So, for fuck’s sake, <em>how</em> could a child like this kill like he could? And how much easier would it have been to put down a heavy thumb on the scenario, proclaimed the boy a victim, and wash the case off as a matter of self-defense?</p><p class="p1">And in light of all this sopping, frustrating mess: Levi ached to believe his own cruelty was the product of circumstance and survival. The underground. Territory wars. Drugs. Murder. Kenny. His mother rotting in her bed… That’s why he had killed and sweat and cried and bled.</p><p class="p1">But here he was: Eren, this above-ground boy whom had the world before him (at least as far as Paradis' shores would allow), and still could take a blade and kill.</p><p class="p1">And somehow, someway, because of this, Levi was all the more intrigued; cared all the more about him. Heard of the boy killing the monsters Levi himself had suffered under, and admired him all the more for it.</p><p class="p1">Maybe Levi had never changed. Maybe he was, still, that damn dirty child slitting throats for the sake of the next meal or for any hint of care from a man who never did. Maybe he was still that panting, shaking addict that ripped out nails and pulled out teeth and didn’t mind torture unless it stained his clothes wet.</p><p class="p1">Were they all, in the end, just monsters? No matter how life had treated you?</p><p class="p1">“Eren.”</p><p class="p1">And, Levi’s voice is calm; low in tone. Easy. Soft and kind enough for Eren to glance upward.</p><p class="p1">He asks: “With those nightmares you always have… What do you dream about?”</p><p class="p1">He expects Eren to be caught off guard at the question, to jump a bit just like he had a moment before. But instead the corner of Eren’s lip simply twitch in thought.</p><p class="p1">He says, “There are different ones. Sometimes, of, um, what happened. Kinda, memories of that night… with my mom.”</p><p class="p1">“And of another night?”</p><p class="p1">Eren looks up at him. “What?”</p><p class="p1">“Never mind,” Levi grunts. “Keep going.”</p><p class="p1">Eren rocks on his feet again. “I kinda… um, have weird dreams too. Not just of memories. Weird dreams that my mind seems to make up. I dunno, it’s weird. Like, I’ll dream I’m really big and that I’m fighting other big people, but somehow I always get beat up. Or eaten.”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe too many of your dad’s history ideas,” Levi shrugs.</p><p class="p1">“Yeah,” Eren whispers. “Maybe.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They don’t sleep. The sky pales. Motor cars crack up and down the cobbled streets, their engines carrying sounds through the open windows. Holding his cup of black tea around the rim, Levi glances through the newspaper while Eren readies his school lunch.</p><p class="p1">The kid's wrapping a piece of bread and cheese in a cloth when he says, very suddenly, “In those weird dreams I have, sometimes you’re in it.”</p><p class="p1">“That so.” Levi doesn’t bother a glance. “You fighting me in your dreams, you little brat?”</p><p class="p1">Eren laughs. “No, I, um, wouldn’t even try. You’re really tough.”</p><p class="p1">Levi snorts and chides the comment with a curt laugh. “Ass kisser.”</p><p class="p1">“You kinda fly around, though. Like a bee, or something.”</p><p class="p1">“Great dreams, Eren.” Levi says, monotone.</p><p class="p1">By seven, Eren stands ready at the door, his blue jacket wrapped around him.</p><p class="p1">Levi leans a hip against the white wall. “Got everything then?”</p><p class="p1">“Uh-huh,” Eren nods. He grips his rucksack tighter. His cheeks burn red as he looks up at Levi in his blue and white school outfit.</p><p class="p1">Levi crosses his arms over his apron. There’s a white scarf tied around his hair and another hanging loosely around his neck. “Alright,” he says. “Good luck at your first day back to school. Don’t screw it up.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And at the week’s end, Grisha Jaeger’s grave is upended. The dirt thrown out from the pit, the cedar casket torn open.</p><p class="p1">No one finds the body.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"And in this episode of 'Nepenthe Abridged:' Grisha Jaeger is a vampire."</p><p>Ah-ha, no, no, just kidding. </p><p>A little housekeeping note: next chapter will be the last in what I like to call the "child timeline." So FINALLY we can start diving into what we're really all here for. Hope to see you then.</p><p>Comments or critiques, no matter how long or short, let me know there's interest still in this story and are THOROUGHLY loved. But, no matter what, I appreciate that you've taken your time to read this. Thank you so very much!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Buckle up for this long chapter, and please enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The day before Grisha’s body is unearthed, Eren runs late coming home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The apartment is dark; no school bag waits in the entryway. No single lamp illuminates a child asleep on the settee. Most nights coming home, Levi could arrive to the scent of dinner struggling to be cooked — a grey, sloppy soup attempting to boil; bread being warmed in the oven. A teabag gone bitter in its hot kettle. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But tonight: nothing. A blank, black silence upon every sense. Levi slips off his shoes, turns on the lights, and glances at the clock…</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two hours until midnight. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Eren isn’t home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not annoyance or worry, but it’s something. A tightening in his gut and a pounding in his chest that feels as unsettling as the situation. It’s enough for Levi to check every room; to turn on every light. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s trudging down to his car, parked on a little side street, when he realizes his own ineptitude, his doubts in where to even begin a search. Eren’s school had let out over five hours ago. The possible places Eren could go — the home of Mikasa’s aunt, the Arlert home, Hannes’? — were addresses and phone numbers either completely unknown to Levi, or possibly filed away at the station. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he knew, at least, the way to the Jaeger’s home. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s silent. It’s dark. The browned stains of Carla’s blood still shine when Levi tugs on the lights. There’s a horrific and eerie quality to the house; the wooden foundations crack and groan. The thin panes of the window glass rattle with every tug of night wind. A lightbulb has burned out in the kitchen; through the glass, the white laundry still hangs on its wire in the back garden. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And yet, no sign of Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi curses at his own pace — how his boots hit the floor rapidly as he swings open doors, and looks through closets, armoires, the front garden, the back garden; upsetting a crime scene because a brat can’t be found…</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He eyes the hatch to the cellar; the dark wooden doors. He cracks one open and what stares back is an abyss. Pitch-black and lifeless. Levi can’t even be sure if what he peers into is a direct entryway into the basement, or a hallway before. He’d need a light, at least, to manage wading through. Still, for good measure, he yells into the thick black: “Eren!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And as expected, no response. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi curses behind the steering wheel. He can admit, now, that he’s anxious. A search around the perimeter of Eren’s elementary had, of course, done little. He stops by a payphone to call his own apartment — a small hope that Eren would be home by now to answer — but the other line only rings, rings, rings. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the precinct, he digs out the phone number — but no address — for where Mikasa Ackerman resides. A dead dial tone answers back; Levi grits his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could call Hange. He could call Erwin. But, he knows, deep down, that <em>anything</em> the brat does is always scrutinized; running away from home, or going on a joyride around Shiganshina would only further their curiosity. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, where would a moody child go? Where, in the late night, would Eren — in all his rage and all his sorrow, in his great loathing of the world and circumstance — risk the late night to be? </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s all a haunch; grabbing at straws. But, Levi drives out into the countryside and toward that damn graveyard. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the land behind the walls of Shiganshina, it’s all an open field. Some villages dot the landscape, their windows glowing orange with candlelight (too poor to rely on electricity). But otherwise, the earth is a long, flat meadow of green and yellow grass with a wide dirt pathway for horses and cars. The graveyard rests in the middle of nowhere, a few good kilometers from the nearest village.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s in this space, on that long stretch of dirt between the graveyard and those candle-lit homes, that Levi finds Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the child illuminates in his headlights, Levi slams his foot against the brakes, puts the car in park, and swings open the car door with a speed that leaves Eren baffled and frozen where he stands. A deer in the headlights. Levi grabs the kid by the shirt collar and hair, eliciting a “<em>I was just</em>—Ah!<em> just going</em>— <em>Ow!</em>—<em> home</em>!” before Levi throws him into the passenger seat. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’ve driven past the village when Levi <em>tries</em> to say calmly, “What the fuck were you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Eren’s got his arms all wrapped around himself. He stares out the window; says softly, “I just wanted to visit my parents, that’s all.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi snorts. “In the middle of the night.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It takes a while to walk there.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi thinks:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>This stupid, fucking brat. </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it’s just like that key — Levi says nothing of Eren’s brash stupidity. The morning’s meetings go as usual. Hange talks until silenced, Moblit loyally at her side. Erwin listens attentively, his broad arms crossed against his chest. It’s odd to hear updates in what had been Levi’s old cases; even stranger to hear Detective Zacharius use the term “sniffed out” without irony as he discusses his methods of research. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then around noon, Levi’s office phone continues ringing. He’s half-passed out against his desk, his head cradled in his arms — he can’t remember a night this week where he had slept for more than three hours. He grunts and lets the call ring out; he knows it must be Hange, too lazy to walk the few meters across the main office space and into Levi’s own. And her squabbling is the last thing he needs. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s half-asleep; images of tall, tall trees swimming in his brain. He stands upon a thick branch, the forest floor an eternity beneath him. Levi’s boots — brown, sturdy, rising up to his thighs — linger at the edge of the branch. And, he jumps, but there’s something to lift him. A something that pulls him upward, catching him in the fall. There’s a weight on his hips; his hands hold on to something slick and cold like metal. There’s something along the trees, something large and moving. It’s—<br/>“Levi.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Erwin’s voice, and it’s loud enough to startle Levi awake. He sucks in a gasp as he raises his head from his folded arms, blinking the sleep from his eyes with narrowed brows.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Erwin does not wait. He stands at the edge of desk; places his large, sturdy palms against the wood and leans forward. His expression is marred — the usual cold collection given way to downturned lips and a tense worry at the corners of his eyes. Levi straightens immediately, shaking his head free of sleep and asking quickly, </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Erwin had shut the door behind him; everything feels off. The phone on Levi’s desk has begun ringing again. Over the noise, Erwin says:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Grisha Jaeger’s body is gone.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And something icy curls up and down Levi’s spine, pinches at his face, and settles like a lump in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>What</em>?” Levi hisses.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We just received a call about it. The groundskeeper saw the mess this morning. The casket has been unearthed and Grisha Jaeger isn’t inside of it. From what we’re told, the lid was torn open.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No… fucking way.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Erwin shakes his head. “Hange’s driving out there now to confirm. This case continues to grow more exciting, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How the hell is that bastard grinning.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All the worse, that phone keeps ringing. The high-pitched trill repeating over and over. Erwin glances at the phone, gives a nod toward the thing, and straightens at the back. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “We’ll discuss further once Hange’s returned.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi loops his fingers around the phone handset, jerking the black receiver to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective Levi Ackerman.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mr. Ackerman,” and it’s a woman’s voice. She sounds half-way perturbed. “I’m calling you in regard to Eren Jaeger, as we have you down as our emergency contact here at our elementary school. We wanted to make sure everything was alright.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em>. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She says:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He didn’t come to class today.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s speeding, taking turns far too fast. He scrambles his apartment key in the lock, throws the front door open, and hissed a curse into the obvious silence inside. Of course Eren isn’t there, hasn’t been there since he feigned a goodbye this morning, his little rucksack slumped against his shoulder, his shoes tapping down the echoing building hallway and stairwell. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi hurries back to his car, walking quickly; his jaw aches from his gnashing of teeth. His fingers curl into fists. There’s static beneath this skin. Every ounce of him crackles as he rounds another tiny street, the tires squealing with another sharp turn. He’s going fast, fast, fast, seething at the edges of his mind because, <em>fuck</em>, the least the brat could do is not <em>be so fucking obvious</em> when Levi had tried — fucking <em>tried</em> — to make an excuse for him at every turn. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He overshoots the Jaeger home by just a few meters, tires screeching to a halt. That big, dark house looks no different in the daylight; that same unsettling atmosphere just as pressing in the sun. In the weeks its been a crime scene, Carla’s potted plants have withered. The front door is locked; the back door open. There’s a little noise coming down the single hallway, a smattering of little knocks and shuffling against the wood floor. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Coming from Eren’s bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Coming from Eren’s bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Coming from Eren’s— </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi swings open the door, the brass knob smacking against the bedroom wall. The hit reverberates through the house, the bang rattling the bedroom window. And Eren’s there, on his knees, prying up floorboards, his eyes wide and fearful and <em>so obviously fucking caught</em> as he yelps. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective—!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Eren scrambles to his feet. The bedroom is a mess, clothes thrown from their drawers, knick-nacks overturned from their places. Furniture pushed this way and that. And despite the small quarters, Eren makes a strong dash, hauling himself forward, using the weight of his body to propel past Levi and scatter down the hallway, toward the back door. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he’s fast, the little fucker, feet slamming like thunder-strikes as he runs. But, Levi crosses the measures of the floor just as quickly, the energy propelling him from his heels to his head. His fingers snag the back of Eren’s shirt collar right before the kid exits through the mouth of the back door, and Levi jerks him back with force, heaving the boy backwards and throwing him against the floor; Eren chokes at the capture, his hands scrambling to his shirtfront as he falls. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And before the brat can scurry back into running, Levi drops to the ground, his knees smacking against wood. In a quick motion, he shoves his hands against Eren’s shoulders and presses the weight of his knee onto his chest, pinning him down onto the floor. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, fuck, that’s right — this kid fights dirty. Eren scratches at Levi’s arms. His legs kick. He’s yelling. Sputtering a string of curses that shouldn’t fit in a child’s mouth. It’s hard, but not impossible, to keep the brat pinned down without breaking his ribs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For fuck’s sake—!” Levi says with a hiss. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kid’s panting. Scratching. <em>Shit, that hurt. </em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He digs the weight of his knee in just a bit deeper. Eren yelps at the compression. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t—” the kid gasps. “I didn’t do… Anything! I didn’t do anything!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren.” And Levi’s voice is calm. Enough so, maybe, that Eren’s flailing eases and stills; the fingers that had been digging into Levi’s wrists soften, gripping loosely around his hands. The kid stares up at him with watery eyes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi asks, “Where’s Grisha Jaeger?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I… I don’t know,” Eren mumbles. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you’re going to lie, stop being so damn <em>obvious</em>. Get some fucking control of yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective Le—“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t —”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can’t…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi thinks about Eren’s room.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you need with that key?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren’s face flinches in, what? Amazement? Shock? </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says in a tight, small voice, “You have it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” grunts Levi. “Now tell me what it’s for.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren shakes his head. Strains to push himself away. Gasps when Levi presses his knee in all the more. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fuck, he had damn well <em>hoped</em> for this kid. Saw something of himself in this mess of a child; had found some admiration in the boy’s undeterred insanity. And if he <em>had</em> to be a little bastard, couldn’t he have kept Levi out of it? </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi shakes his head. “Eren… what the fuck have you done?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Noth— Ow! Detective Levi!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi eases the weight off his knee and hauls the brat upward, looping an arm around his stomach and gripping Eren against his side with one arm. Eren stops struggling. He bares his teeth. Closes his eyes. Only opening them when Levi drops him onto the grass outside the cellar doors. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Open it,” says Levi.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Eren does; pulling apart the hatch and descending the stairs. In the bright afternoon light it’s apparent, finally, that the doors had opened into a long hallway. The floor is dirt beneath their shoes. A single door awaits them at the end. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go ahead,” and Levi juts his head toward the door.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s locked,” whimpers Eren.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi shoves a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out that damned key. Even before inserting it, Levi knows it’s not a match. The key is clunky, heavy, and thick. Not meant for the thin, standard latches on doors. But still, there’s something pulling him; a sense of deja vu that nags him forward. He pushes Eren to the side, scooting him up toward the wall, and raises his right leg to connect the sole of his boot against the door, the wood splintering beneath his heel. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there’s a glow on the other side. A lamp hanging from the ceiling, its yellow light settling over a desk made filthy with papers. Serums and concoctions line the shelved walls; medical books and dictionaries filed in their proper places. It’s by no means a small doctor’s study, but feels cramped all the same. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Why would a light be on behind a locked door? </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi slides his arm between cracked wood, unlatching the door from the other side. He swings it open and takes Eren by the shirt, dragging the boy in behind him. The shelves are lined in dust; the glass bottles with their mottled sheen. But the floor seems to have been used, no dust or dirt settled upon it in a layer. The desk, as well, seems disturbed. Despite the overlap of greying papers, a corner of the desk seems thrashed against; its wood nicked and pried-at with something sharp. The drawer just below is splintered around its edges, great gashes in the thick, sturdy wood. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And amongst this carnage, is a keyhole. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Levi knows; it aches against him. That familiarity. Had he dreamt something similar? Was it all just a weird intuition? He settles the key into the lock and it slips in without hitch. Eren stands silently beside him before reaching out a hand. He grips Levi’s shirt. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective Levi—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly there’s a snap. The shuttering and slamming of the cellar doors wobbling on their hinges. The footfalls of thick boots beating against the dirt path in the now-dark hallway. Levi pivots on his heel, his body facing the open, snarled door.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there’s a man. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And this figure moves quick, throwing himself past the entryway, and Levi can register a few things —the broad shoulders, the blonde hair, the round, thick glasses propped against the bridge of a nose— before the man lunges closer, arms outstretched to wrap around Levi’s neck. Together, they fall, Levi’s back hitting ground, but he bends his right knee upon impact, jams his foot against the hard flooring. Uses this as a pushing point to roll himself and the man over, their positions now switched. Levi batters him with fists. He hears Eren gasp nearby. Levi connects another fist to a scruffy jaw.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the man yells; he’s taller, heavier, but by no means stronger. Still he manages a thick hand to grip into Levi’s hair, pulling, pulling desperately — an attempt to administer any pain. Levi leans back and raises a knee, digging the flat of his shoe into the bastard’s throat. The man yelps, cries out, and Levi moves quickly, throttling him over so the bastard lies on his stomach. Levi pulls both of the man’s arms behind him and pins him to the ground. Pressing his weight forward, holding one of the bastard’s arms against his chest, Levi uses momentum to snap a shoulder out of place. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the man yells all the more. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut the fuck up,” Levi sighs, “Or I’ll break everything you have.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man thrashes again before groaning out:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren—!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that thick cold has run itself down Levi’s spine once more. He grapples the man’s other arm, pulling it taunt and letting it snap. And only then does Levi look to Eren— to this little brat staring with these wild, wide eyes. His teeth bore into his bottom lip. His small hands are curled into fists, shaking with rage. The kid looks alight; fire incarnate. His chest heaving. Pupils dilated. Hair standing on edge. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kill him,” says Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi quirks a brow. There’s no smile on his lips. “He a friend of your’s?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” And Eren pauses. “I’ve never met him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man cries out again, choking on Eren’s name. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi sighs. “Shut up.” Presses the arm further. “Eren.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Eren’s face flinches.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Open the fucking drawer.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t—” starts the blonde bastard.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But, Eren’s there already. He roughly wipes an arm beneath his nose and slams his fist on the desk’s top — a final, physical wail of frustration. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop throwing a tantrum and open it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the lock unlatches, it clicks; when the drawer pulls out, something rattles. And the blonde bastard presses his face against the floor and heaves out a heavy sigh. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s nothing in here,” says Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Likely a false bottom. Pry it up, like your floorboards.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren frowns. Mutters, “I won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the boy glances over. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a tiredness to Levi’s face; he can feel the slant in his own eyes, the downward tug against his lips.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want to trust whatever you’re doing.” <em>And that’s been the truth all along, hasn’t it?</em> “And to do that, I need you to open it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And somehow, that pulls the trigger. Eren softens his face and takes in a shaky breath. He pries his nails along the edges within the drawer, pulling out a long plank and tossing it aside. His hands return to the depths of the drawer, coming to grip around a simple, black box. Longer than it is wide. Latched in the front. He looks over to Levi before unhooking the latch. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And in it —</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi blinks.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A syringe…? Levi’s never seen anything like it — the almost neon, purple hue of the liquid confined within the glass. Eren tilts the box toward Levi, cradling it closely to his stomach, making sure to keep the item secure in his arms. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Directed toward the man, Levi says, “Go ahead and explain.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man lifts his head from the ground, his face is already half swollen; his glasses had been thrown off to the edge of the room. He peers at the box with tired, listless eyes. Levi does not miss the quick eye contact between him and Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s—” the man starts. He lets a few seconds pass before Levi gives him a shove. “It’s undistilled Nepenthe.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>…What?</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi smirks. “I didn’t know that was on the market.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not.” And the man groans loudly. “Mister, please, you’re going to break off my arm.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi does the opposite — pushes it upward even further. “So what is it made out of? Nepenthe?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—I wouldn’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Ah</em>!” screams the man in another shot of pain. “Ah! <em>Please</em>—!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sir?” That’s a new term, but it somehow feels familiar in Eren’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know the number for the precinct?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy nods. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. Let them know I’m bringing in a friend.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Broken and battered in the backseat of Levi’s car, the blonde bastard falls to muttering on the drive to the precinct. His face is pressed against the flooring. His body is half-hanging off the seats. In his garbled breaths of pain, he talks of the weather; speaks of the philosophies of man (“<em>Can we prove ourselves at the top of the food-chain by a showmanship of the most powerful violence, or lack thereof?</em>”). </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He directs his mad, random ramblings to Eren only once: </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have an attacking beast inside of me,” he says calmly. “Can you find a way to coordinate yourself?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren remains silent. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s booked as Zeke Kruger — a name that is untraceable; omitted in both census and tax records. Although cold by nature, he is calm and polite. His is speech peppered with “please’s” and “thank you’s.” He asks for two things: a book to read, and to remain far from the “short man” whom had dislocated his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s given medical care. A cell with a cot and sink. He’s booked for the most apparent offense (assault) and his case is sent into processing for other unrelated — and far more extreme — accusations. The syringe and its contents are given to Erwin, who cocks a brow and flashes a smirk toward Levi when someone says, “Nepenthe.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And through it all, Eren is quiet. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi doesn’t push him. He swats away Hange’s questioning, her insistence for Eren to begin the identification process — to pin the who, what, and why of this new player in the case.But, Levi keeps to her at an arm’s distance. Presses a hand on Eren’s shoulder (Levi’s weary attempt at comfort), and makes an excuse that excludes Eren’s role in the drama of the afternoon. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was bystander, following Levi at the heels, as the kid had always done. He had done little, seen little, and said little. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, for fuck’s sake, let the kid go home and get a break for a few hours.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s still blood in the backseat of Levi’s car. That blonde bastard’s nose had leaked onto the flooring. Levi grimaces at the sight, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and slams a wet rag over the mess. In front passenger’s seat, Eren’s curled in on himself, his knees brought to his chest and his arms slung around him — he’s that little boy in the children’s interrogation room once more. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi sighs. He works at a stain.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Brat, what do you want for dinner?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a notable silence, long enough for Levi to assume he’ll be ignored, before there comes a little sniffle and a confused voice that whispers:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dinner,” mutter Levi. God, this stain is refusing to let up. “What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren cranes his neck around the seat. Eyes studying Levi. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can’t just…” he says, “Just pretend…”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah I can. What do you want? Answer the question.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren’s mouth finches in thought. “A steak,” he says. “With cheese on top.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Keep dreaming,” and Levi snorts. “We have neither of those things. Next.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“An omelette.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How many eggs do we have?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Six.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, that’ll do.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren’s warmed, by a fraction, once dinner is cooked. Levi’s stomach is too coiled in knots to feel any sort of hunger, so he eases his headache with a cup of tea instead. Eren pokes around his food — likely suffering the same lack of appetite — but makes a few feeble attempts at eating. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Levi asks, “You wanna talk about it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren flinches, the fork clattering from his hand onto the plate. He shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright.” And it’s not worth pressing. Levi rises from the table when Eren asks in a meek voice,</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Would I be able to see Mikasa?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi frowns. There’s a certain streak of cruelty, really, in keeping them apart. Steeped within all this carnage, there exists only those two. A little girl without parents, and a little boy just the same. Nothing permanent in the world, but each other. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I imagine. The precinct’s gotta be curious if she recognizes Zeke Kruger. And,” he sighs. “Knowing Hange, she’s probably got Mikasa on the way to our department now.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren looks down at his hands. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective Levi,” he says. “Do you hate me?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>What a sentimental question.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi curls up the morning’s newspaper, left out on the counter during breakfast, and whacks Eren lightly on the head. “You’re a dumbshit brat,” he says. “A pain in my ass, but I don’t hate you, no. But I’ll think a bit better of you if you tell me why you would have the key to a drug box.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren releases a shaky breath. His hands curl around the hem of his school pants. “My dad… gave it to me.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What a nice parting gift. Alright. When? And, why?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“On the night he died. I don’t…” and Eren’s eyes linger off to the right. “I don’t know why. But, he told me to hide it, so I did before the police came.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are timeframes to be ironed out — moving pieces that need to be glued down. But in the end, really, Levi’s sure these are details that would only benefit curiosity. Eren and his secret, little key needed not be mentioned; his father’s selfish trust in his son wouldn’t better the chances of a justified conviction. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, at this point to him, it doesn’t matter whatever part Eren played in it all; Levi wants this case over. Wants someone — if anyone — rotting in jail who isn’t some dumb nine-year-old kid. He’s sick of hunches and assumptions and lies. The kid is equally a monster and victim, fine. Let the juxtaposition exist. But, close the case and let there be an end to it. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren,” and Levi bends at the knees, kneeling to Eren’s height on the kitchen chair. “You don’t have to trust anyone but yourself. I wouldn’t blame you. But, things are a lot easier to bear with the help of other people.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And when Eren leans forward, it’s a motion done slowly. His little body turning to face Levi, his frame bending at the waist. He crumbles, his head settling against Levi’s collarbone. He tangles his fingers into the front of Levi’s shirt. He’s shaking. Chest heaving. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, suddenly, then, a chocked sob: </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I killed my dad.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eren,” and Levi presses a hand against the back of the boy’s head. He looks upward, to the white, blank ceiling. “I know.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that releases another deep cry. One that leaves Eren’s entire body shaking. His hands grip harder against fabric. His chest continues heaving, his tears leaving large, wet pools on the front of Levi’s clothing. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither say anything more. The clicking of the kitchen clock counts down the seconds — an eternity of muffled sobs and that <em>tick-tick-tick</em>. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, Eren pulls away, digging his palms into his eyes, all red and wet and puffy from tears. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi hates to ask it: “What about your mom?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren shakes his head. His lip pulls up in a snarl. “No! No. I would never. I couldn’t. If my dad hadn’t… I wouldn’t have, to him… But, I never did anything to my mom.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s babbling. Overwhelmed. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi straightens the conversation. “I believe you. So what happened?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She fell,” he swallows. “My dad had grabbed her in the kitchen because she was trying to make a phone call he didn’t want, and she fell.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren’s lips part; he releases a little whine, the feeling of a sob threatening again. “And— And she couldn’t move after that. She was just gurgling, and her neck was weird. And, no one would help her. And my dad...”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a breath. Bites his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t see him do it. He took her out into the living room. And I stayed in the kitchen with one of his— One of those bastards.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi’s mouth flickers. His brows knit close.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How Carla Jaeger died was far too cruel for a man like Grisha Jaeger — Carla had suffered, her stab wounds in the multiple. It wasn’t a pity kill to put a human out of its misery, as Eren had believed. Was it really Grisha, then…?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Where was Mikasa?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“With me.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And Zeke?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren frowns. “I’m sorry I lied to you, about him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, Eren. Where was Zeke?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“With my mom and dad, and that other man was with them too. I broke away from the bastard in the kitchen but my mom was dead already. And, and, Zeke was gone. And, my dad asked me to forgive him.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren covers his face. Says in a muffled rasp, “I couldn’t… I still haven’t forgiven him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But before, you killed the other two?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren nods. “One of them. And, Mikasa the other, but please don’t… don’t say anything about that. But, that one from the kitchen grabbed like this—” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he puts both hands around his neck. “Trying to stop me from reaching my dad. So Mikasa…” His hands drop.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And that last asshole,” Eren continues. “When that last one grabbed Mikasa… I was so angry. I wanted them all to die, after everything. And then, at the end, my fucking dad just got on his knees and told me to kill him, if it meant I would forgive him and, if I could, for Eldia—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren catches himself. His body goes rigid. His mouth falls silent. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi clicks his jaw. “What about ‘for Eldia?’” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No,” says Eren, and his face is anxious and tight. “Nothing. My dad was patriotic. He wanted me to be a better person for the sake of our country. That’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Liar.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren wipes his eyes. Leans his head once more against Levi.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective Levi. Are you going to tell? …Will you tell everything I said?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is justice, there is duty, there is honor. Levi joined the detective division for none of those three reasons. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. Those are your secrets to tell, not mine. Whatever you did, and whatever you choose to do, just try not to regret it.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren nods and says nothing more. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zeke confesses — before Levi chains his bike just outside the precinct, before Mikasa or Eren are given their interviews — Zeke confesses.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the dark of the night, Hange bounds to the front doors of the department, energy in her every step. She coils her arms around Levi’s shoulders before breaking off to pinch Eren’s right cheek with her thumb and forefinger. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Finally!” she cheers. And her voice is a delight. High pitched, exuberant. Her hands thrust into the air. “We have our man! We have our man!” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi catches Eren scooting closer, the side of his body leaning against Levi’s leg. The boy stares at the ground blankly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hange,” Levi interrupts. “Let’s calm down a bit. Where’s Mikasa?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“On her way. Alright, now, Eren,” and Hange crouches down beside the boy. “This is it. I’m sorry for everything. But, Zeke has confessed to what happened. That’s a good thing. Once you and Mikasa corroborate his story, we can get justice for your parents.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She grips Eren against the shoulders, pulls him into a soft embrace. “Things will get better from now on, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi doesn’t understand, and there are no words he can use to explain it. He’s on a third cup of black tea that hour and his headache is growing strong.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Erwin signs off on paperwork, his sharply-tipped pen scratching on the paper’s textured surface. He says, casually:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“His name is not Zeke Kruger, but Zeke Jaeger. Eren’s half brother.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>For fuck’s sake</em>. Levi leans his head against his hands and groans. One detail after the next. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Born in Marley, but not registered there. Same with his two dead companions, he claims. He’s Grisha’s first son, whom he had abandoned in order to return to Eldia.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what, he’s claiming to have killed Carla and Grisha out of spite?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>What the fuck was going on. </em>Even Eren had seemed astonished at the confession; had taken a step back; had looked over to Levi with a gaping mouth and wide, stunned eyes.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“What is… he doing?” </em>Eren had whispered. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, killed them out a spite. And before that—” Erwin motions toward the black box upon his desk. “He had hoped to use his father’s chemical knowledge to manufacture Nepenthe. I’m sure you remember how cut-throat that industry is.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi rolls his eyes. “Humorous tonight, are we?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Always.” Erwin dips his pen in its well; a stretch of blue ink follows as the silver pentip rises. “So, there it is, then.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right. And you believe him?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Why would he confess to this? Why would he confess to this? Why would he confess to this? What’s the bigger picture?</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Erwin furrows his brow. His free hand taps against his desk. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My first intuition about this whole case,” he says, “Was a risky assumption. Not the most obvious or sound. And despite it all, my mind is still there, at that possibility, instead of here. However,” and his writing hand stills. He looks to Levi. “I’ll let the game play out how it chooses. If we cannot garner what we need now, I’ll let the cards move as they please. We’ll get there. We’re clever enough. If not now, then later. It will come together.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In Trost, the clouds hang low. It is a city of grey stone buildings. It is a city of grey smoke skies. In the courthouse, the slick stonework upon the walls and the floors shine grey. The iron rails separating the audience in the court: grey. The shackles binding Zeke Jaeger’s ankles and bandaged arms: grey. The beard and hair on Judge Darius Zackly…</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grey.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After three days, Levi is damn sick of the color.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The grand courthouse is congested, despite its grand size. Rectangular in shape, the inner workings had been divided by sections. At the room’s head: the judge. In the center: the space of the accused. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What surrounded such vital areas of court were simply garnishing, separated by iron rails and changes in floor elevation. Paying onlookers confined to the upper outer regions. Family of the accused and accusers delegated to the middle ring, while the most inner space (just to the peripheral of the accused) was reserved for those directly involved within the trial.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From the inner area, Levi crosses his arms. Erwin bumps a shoulder against him and motions his head toward the center where Zeke kneels before the risen station of Zackly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you expect from today?” Erwin speaks lowly. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi sneers. He shakes his head. “I don’t care. I just want it done.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hates the showmanship of trials. Hates the cocky flaunt that Zackly gives as he feigns his role of integrity. The man is flaky on the emphasis of evidence. He is attentive only in circumstances that could add gravity to his name. And unless there is severe intervention, the inner workings of his rulings are often made before the trial. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But so be it. If the blonde bastard wished to plead guilty, then who was Levi to care?</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He eyes the contralateral side of the inner sector. It’s sparse compared to the great mass of people above. Straight-faced, hands gripped behind her back, Hange stares forward, her gaze intently set upon Zeke Jaeger. She is the towering figurehead alone with Mikasa and Eren. They flank the sides of her — these two little children. Levi catches Eren clenching and unclenching his hands. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Please don’t do anything stupid. </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Judge Zackly calls order and the room quiets. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zeke Jaeger,” he addresses and the acoustics of the wide stone room carry his voice to each wall. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Through his small glasses, the judge peers at the crumpled man upon the lowly center stage. Since his arrest, Zeke’s beard has grown longer, his skin pale and sunken. Little food, little sleep. Perhaps by way of a great deal of thinking. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zackly arranges his papers. Settles his folded arms over the stack. “I propose to tackle the least of our worries first: do you or do you not know the location of Grisha Jaeger’s body?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a haze in Zeke’s eyes. A slowness to his moments; he shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do not,” he sighs. “However, I suggest the likely scenario of local delinquent behavior. I imagine a case such as this has garnered enough attention for teenagers seeking out pranks.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A whir of whispers follow. Someone laughs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zackly redirects: “The court does not find your suggestion humorous, Mr. Jaeger.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Apologies. I now understand my place.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head. “I will allow investigations to pursue this matter further. In the mean time, let us move onto the true reason why you are here.” And Zackly adjusts his glasses. Reading from a document, he says: “Zeke Jaeger, you confess to the premeditated murder of Carla and Grisha Jaeger. Does your confession still hold?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Without hesitation: “It does.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see here upon arrest, you claimed the family name Kruger. Why is that?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Such as been my alias since my father, Grisha Jaeger, abandoned my mother and I in Marley.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see,” says Zackly. He leans back in his chair. “Enlighten us further.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That obvious, heady glaze still lingers in Zeke’s eyes. Erwin must see it — he has to see it by the way in which he leans forward from where he stands. Captivated, totally, in the chase of lies and truths. He possesses those blue eyes of a hunter, watching for any trepidus mistake.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zeke begins.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am the first son of Grisha Jaeger, born to him and his first wife, Dina. My father and mother were deserters of the Eldian empire and we lived amongst others of our kind in squalor. Without warning, he abandoned his ideals and in turn, abandoned us. My proud mother died, and when I came of age, I tasked myself with ruining the man whom had abandoned me.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I came into Eldia and found not only my father, but the happy, simple life he had created in my absence. I was enraged, your honor. I confronted him. As some sort of apology, Grisha entrusted me with his greatest secret: using what he knew of medicine, he was attempting to create what we know as Nepenthe. I agreed to help him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And yet, I was still overcome with jealousy and rage. This man had tossed aside my mother for a weak-willed, uneducated barmaid and dedicated his life to bastardizing the goodness of medicine. I could hold it no longer, and I set out to kill this family. And for the girl with them, I planned to sell her to my two companions in order to secure money for an escape back to Marley.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is silence. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi’s been watching Eren — watching the face that hides nothing with every turn of Zeke’s story. Had watched the boy’s eyes narrow, his clenched fists begin to shake. And Levi knows — immediately knows — that deep within Eren’s veins, something is sparking. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a loud tap, Zackly rearranges his papers against his desk. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let us go over the crime, then,” he says. “With what method do you claim to have murdered Carla and Grisha Jaeger with?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A knife.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, you took this one knife, killed Carla Jaeger and then Grisha Jaeger, is this correct?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That is correct.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just above Levi’s ear, Erwin breathes a huff; sounding, almost, like a single laugh. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see,” and Zackly furrows a brow. “But, how so? Investigations have reported a different knife used for each victim.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My memory is clouded with rage, your honor. I don’t remember the events perfectly. I believe my father attempted to run from my attack, like the gutless man he had always been.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Zeke pauses. He bows his head and sighs. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But allow me to be frank. If I must prove my honesty, let me be my most honest: what I remember perfectly, is Carla. I tried to see my own mother’s face in her’s. How trite. And yet, the more I searched, the more I hated her. Maybe I hated my own mother, in the end, or maybe I hated this uncommitted barwhore because she was nothing like her. I don’t know. But, god, when I could only watch her gurgling with those cloudy eyes like an animal, to kill her felt like exoneration—” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The voice is Eren’s.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Levi’s thoughts implode into a stream of curses. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is adrenaline in those green eyes. There is rage. There is fire. He is a boy alight; all parts wicked, all parts wild. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy is rising — two hands settle upon the iron barrier. His lifts his body upward; stomps a first foot upon the flat top of the railing. Another foot joins. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And when he straightens upon balancing, he stands at the hight of the rest of them, in the eyesight of the court — this weird and wonderful demon. His arm juts forward; a single finger points. And when his vocals rise, he is louder, louder, <em>louder</em> than any word in that damn court. Rebounding upon the polished stone walls, settling in every ear:</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If he killed my mother,” Eren yells, “Then find him guilty by your standards. But for my father and for those other two bastards, I did it. I killed them.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes Levi a moment to realize he had been holding his own breath. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hange clamors to Mikasa, the little girl’s legs moving on her own, making a dive toward Eren. Hange grabs her, holding the girl between her arms, tightening her grip desperately as Mikasa struggles.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Levi catches it within his peripheral: the lips on Erwin pulling. Curling upward. A smile. His eyes shine with that glimmer of fascination. Levi feels ill at the sight.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zackly’s voice quiets the crowd. “Interesting. And to what do we owe such a brave confession?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sick of that fucker’s voice.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see. But is what he saying untrue?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Half of it,” bites Eren. “I get it now. He’s a coward.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh?” calls the judge. “How so?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren’s eyes still bare into Zeke, unyielding and cruel. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They let my mother die. They <em>chose </em>for her to die,” he says, and suddenly Eren leans forward. His feet land against the shining stone of the center court. “Not because they weren’t strong enough, but because they were too afraid. Both he and my father. I hate it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zeke has not moved, but that glazed look has dissipated. His eyes are studied, cold. His lips set straight. There’s a flurry of voices — whispers as sharp as hisses. Rising above the noise of the crowd, Mikasa yells Eren’s name. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whether it was him that killed my mom, or ran, I don’t care,” Eren snarls. “He’s killed her all the same, and I refuse to allow this bastard any chance of his hoped for ‘forgotten-son’ sympathy!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, suddenly, Eren is dashing forward — pummeling toward Zeke with abandon. And in this quick second, as Judge Zackly rises from his chair, so too does Levi. Using a single hand as leverage against the rail, he jumps above the banister and catapults himself forward. And he’s running, his boot heels clicking against slick stones as he moves. And he’s made it, just as Eren is a single footfall from Zeke. Levi hurls a leg forward, sweeping it beneath the boy. Legs kicked out form under him, Eren falls forward, his chin hitting ground with a stomach-turning <em>crack</em>.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi grapples him, holding Eren against the ground. He leans downward to hiss a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t give them any more reason to hand you the death penalty, you goddamn fucking <em>brat</em>, Eren.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Eren gives a stuttering breath and relaxes. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boy,” comes the judge’s voice. The garbled voices of the crowd halts. “So, tell me. <em>Your</em> claim to the murders center around revenge. Fine. But in your opinion, then, what is your half-brothers role in this mess?” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just like my father’s,” Eren breathes. “It’s about Nepenthe.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a break in the trial. Within his judge’s quarters, Zackly takes the first inhale of a cigarette. Lit match in his hand, he flicks his wrist quickly, extinguishing the flame. He tosses it aside. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How exciting,” he says. “It’s like watching a stage performance.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The private room is ornate. Light green wallpaper, dark wooden floors. The large, gilded crest of the Reiss royal family hangs on the wall just behind Zackly’s shaking desk. Erwin’s taken a seat in a plush white chair. Levi leans against the wall, his arms crossed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And,” Erwin starts, “What are your thoughts, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly as I just said. I look forward to the next act.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Indeed,” confirms Erwin, “You understand then, why this case has been my focus over the others. I’m interested to know where you are currently leaning in your ruling.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zackly leans back, exhaling a thick haze of smoke as he settles against the chair. “After such a passionate outcry as that, I’m partial to believe the boy over that Marley foreigner. So with that in mind, at the very least, Zeke Jaeger I will charge with possession of Nepenthe and for the…” he curls a smile, “<em>Attempted</em> assault on Detective Ackerman. As such, he will face a twelve-year prison sentence with hard labor.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi clicks his jaw, the tension there nagging him. He asks bluntly: </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, Eren Jaeger?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right.” The judge groans. “What a troublesome little thing. I could believe the boy suffers from psychopathy. Nevertheless: the murder of the two companions of Zeke Jaeger, I could rule that as self-defense, and thus any punishment waved. I’ll corroborate this story with Mikasa Ackerman on the stand once we reconvene.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very good,” says Erwin</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, for his father,” Zackly waves a hand, breaking through the cloud of smoke before his vision. “There seems no premeditation for that murder. Considering Eren Jaeger is a child with an unstable mental state, I would find it best to commit him for seven years to a correctional facility for boys around his age. Furthermore, upon his release, I would find it best for him to enroll in the cadet corp. The army will straighten him out. Teach the boy some control. But, my real worry is how he’ll behave as an adult. He’s a demon now, but how much worse will it be when he’s older?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The judge sighs and grits his teeth. “I have half a mind to simply minimize the potential risk and rule his three murders as premeditated by way of insanity. Commit the boy for life and be done with it. Ignore our law’s preference for rehabilitation.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi’s mouth falls open, poison and rebuttal ready at his tongue—</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But there’s Erwin; calm, assured. His voice a deep and easy lilt, “Sir, I have a proposal.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go on.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Commit him to the correctional prison for seven years and allow him to complete the three-year cadet corps training. Following graduation, place him under the authority of Levi, whom is the only person I see fit to control the child, no matter his age. Allow him to gauge the success of Eren Jaeger’s rehabilitation back into society as possible or impossible, and we will react from there.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Levi,” interjects Zackly, his eyes sliding toward the wall. “Do you feel you are up to task? What will you do should Eren Jaeger lose control?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would do as I have continued to do since he came under my supervision: react accordingly with discipline. And even if then I cannot, and if he is such a threat, I can definitely kill him if it comes to that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Why do these words taste so familiar? </em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see,” and Zackly snuffs out his cigarette and threads his fingers. Resting his upper lip against the sides of his hands he concludes, “We will strive for this outcome, then. Let us reconvene the court.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the month’s end, a few things are made certain.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Laboratory tests determine the new liquid form of Nepenthe consists of ultra filtrate plasma with a low protein content. As with its powdered variety, similar compounds — both recognizable and unrecognizable by testing standards— are indicated. Per official documents: “<em>The method of manufacturing the drug is still uncertain, as are the trace chemicals and proteins within it</em>.” Specialists theorize the product originated in countries outside of Eldia. “<em>Perhaps the answer and end to Eldia’s growing crisis with Nepenthe depends upon the insight of separate nations</em>,” finishes the report. Offering no further enlightenment, the item is stored within the court’s archives, deep within the locked cellars of the capital’s building. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Born from Eldians, Zeke remains within his ancestral country, as the law dictates. An overpopulation within the prison system awards him a shared cell in Trost; the dark, cramped space existing beneath the central courthouse. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The body of Grisha Jaeger is never found. The case goes cold. The empty grave, eventually, re-filled with dirt. </span>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An early dawn creeps through the open window, bringing in the the fresh, floral scent of flowers in their dirt: the cleanliness of a passed rainstorm. Levi drops another book within the box. He folds Eren’s clothing and piles them neatly in a rucksack. Packs a few extra toothbrushes and wax-paper wrapped soaps for good measure. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a wetness to the air, clinging cold and wet in his lungs, but he’s never minded haze or rain within Shiganshina. Levi loops the arms of the rucksack around his shoulders, balances the heavy box between the bike handlebars and his body, and pedals off into the oncoming day. Alone, he rides a little bit faster, takes turns a little bit sharper, until he settles his bike beneath a tree near the district’s jailhouse. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s their last meeting before Eren’s sentence begins. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy had been arrested in Trost, and Mikasa almost alongside him — not by way of indicting her in murder (her role apart from victim had never been spoken), but by her fierce reaction to Eren’s arrest and confinement. Nevertheless, of the two brats, only Eren had been held in Trost for further processing and arrangements, whatever jail cell he occupied simply a temporary one until his eventual placement at Weltschmerz Prison. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Erwin — being the way he was — had somehow pulled strings. Had bat his pretty eyes, had crooned in his cunning voice, and somehow, on the boy’s last day before his formal arrest and transportation, he was given one last night within the walls of Shiganshina. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Within a jail, sure, but at least within a town that was his own.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the dark, underground portion of the jail, Levi wonders if the boy misses sunlight. If he wants to know that it’s raining. Or that the air is too cold without a jacket. That last week, the damn front tire on the bike chose to burst. That somehow the brat has cursed Levi’s apartment — every soup he tries to cook seems to burn on the bottom now, just like Eren’s. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But at the sight of the little child in that great, dark cell, Levi drops those sentimental, stupid thoughts. The guardsman pulls open the barred cage with a heavy squeal, shutting it closed once Levi walks in. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck,” chides Levi. “You look terrible.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren, sitting on the edge of his cot, smiles. He shakes his head. “I know,” he sighs. “It’s okay.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s an awkward air at first. Levi sticks to his corner, Eren remains on his cot. There’s a weariness there — a hint of remorse and heartache Levi dares not touch upon. Instead, he eventually settles the box upon the dirt flooring. Shakes off the rucksack dangling from one shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re lucky,” he says as he takes a seat upon the ground. “Despite being made from the ruins of a country manor, Weltschmerz Prison has running water. The cells are above ground too, so hopefully you’ll have a window. I can’t guarantee you won’t be bored, but Hange found out they allow brats like you sport matches every so often. Just don’t mar anyone.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren eases closer, settling on the floor beside Levi and his belongings. He peers within the box. Undoes the belting on the rucksack. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is everything from my room,” he says. “Well, from… my room at your apartment.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever you need from your family home, I’ll mail to you. Got it? You have my phone number and address.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren nods. He looks downward. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You did a lot for me,” he whispers.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi rolls his eyes. Flicks a finger against the boy’s forehead. “And still, you got arrested.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren breathes out a chuckle. He’s got one of those sad sort of smiles; Levi’s chest tightens at the sight. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective Levi… Can I ask you…?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren looks to him. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you see me as a monster?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you are Eren,” and Levi touches the boy’s head, “It’s through no fault of your own.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren nods, his face red, his eyes watery; a single blink breaks loose the threatening tears. Levi gives the boy’s hair a last little ruffle and stands. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fucking hell, you cry a lot,” he chides. He pats the dirt from his pants and takes a step toward the sliding door, but a sudden weight half-trips him — Eren’s arms swung around his left knee, his face pressed into Levi’s thigh. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t go,” the boy says, muffled. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi sighs, the exhale of his breath warm and heavy. He lowers the back of his legs against his heels, kneeling in front of where the boy stands. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll be alright, Eren.” And Levi’s not sure if it’s true — if this sort of wild kid in this dark and dirty cage won’t break beneath the captivity. Levi does not know what man will step out from the restraints in ten years time. But <em>fuck</em>, these aren’t the words Levi himself had needed to hear when he too was a child. “You’ll be alright. Despite you constantly fucking it up.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Eren throws his arms around Levi’s shoulders; digs the top of his head just below Levi’s throat. And in a great stuttering wail, Eren confesses: “I’m… I’m in love with you, Detective Levi!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Ew.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“</em>Great to know,” and Levi’s voice pinches with sarcasm. “You’re a toddler.” He shakes his head. Says to himself in a mutter, “Disgusting kid.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, but…” Eren tries. He pulls away from Levi quickly, settling his palms on Levi’s shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes. “If you marry me when I’ll older, I’ll tell you everything, okay? Everything.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Levi stands. He gives a gentle pat against Eren’s face. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren wails. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Detective—!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“</em>Eren.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And the boy goes still. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Promise me something.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anything," says Eren. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be an even bigger brat when I see you next.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week in "Nepenthe Abridged:" local man tries to save boy from self. Fails miserably. </p>
<p>Sometime this coming week, I plan to re-word the summary of this story, so please don't be surprised if it has changed when you take a look in the Attack On Titan fic list later on. </p>
<p>I want to say thank you to everyone. I so greatly enjoy writing and planning out this fic and, honestly, it's all because of the beautiful interactions and interest that my readers so kindly show me. </p>
<p>Worry not if the "mystery" still alludes you -- such is the intention!</p>
<p>Love you all, and see you next week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wakes in the early morning — before the birdsongs, before the ebb and flow of life outside the window. If the room weren’t so dark, Levi could have seen the wall clock; known he had awoken fifteen minutes past three. But instead, he stares at the ceiling above, his eyes creating nonsense patterns and spots in the dark, dark room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how he feels; he’s a vat of nothingness. Doesn’t know what he dreamed or why he’s awake. Doesn’t crave for a cigarette or further sleep. He throws an arm against his forehead. Breathes deep and thinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been ten years — he’s thirty-three (probably). Not much richer or poorer. Not anymore happy or sad. He’s had cases and scrapes; attempts at foregoing coffee and cigarettes (a failure each time). Had taken on one-night trysts and then left them behind. Replaced one car with another. Kept his old bike. Stayed in his same apartment. Received three letters from the brat in the span of ten years — answered four phone calls from Weltchmerz Prison: complaints of Eren Jaeger attempting escape. By the kid’s fifth year there, Eren had either given up, or the beatings had rendered his legs too useless to run.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ten years. And to think, now Levi would be seeing him in a handful of hours.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>His nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. Fuck’s sake, he was damn sick with it — the slick taste of copper sliding down this throat, overfilling his belly with a nauseating wave as Levi leaned his head back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pinched the bridge of his nose harder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coming down from a high was always rough; left you shaky and paranoid and feeling like a running engine with rusted parts. Nepenthe gave you that hot, happy upsurge of adrenaline, but left you shattered by hour four, once the effects started waning. Usually, nose-bleeds weren’t a part of the comedown but—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> — the taste of blood was getting to him. He leaned forward, hanging his head over the sink and gagged. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kenny was in the dining room, picking the dirt from beneath his nails with a knife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got some blood on your upper lip there, runt.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” He didn’t know. His eyes must have been too bleary to have seen it in the mirror; he wiped beneath his nose with the back of his hand and stared long at the smear that had transferred to the top of his wrist. But, at least the bathroom now smelled of chemical cleaner and his clothes were fresh (out of spite, he figured to just burn the blood-drenched top he had been wearing; there was no way in hell he would get that stain out). </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The greatness of their hiding house felt horrifically empty. It echoed like the deeper pits of the underground — the rooms sparse with their minimal furniture, the walls and floors (a sanded down limestone) empty of rugs or curtains. Some crime lord must have owned the place in the past and made a run for it, leaving only the barebones of furniture and brick-hard bread behind. If Kenny had claimed the tiny mansion by his own accord, or took up a lease just like a good man, well… Levi knew the answer to that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, listen,” and Kenny’s knife glinted beneath the lamps. He scooted the tip beneath the next nail. “Some of my big wig customer friends up top — this is what I was telling you before you ran off, so listen here a bit better this second time, cause there ain’t be a third — some of them were telling me about our newest predicament.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.” Levi pinched his nose. Tried to bite down another wave of nausea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter if our loyal customers are in government, police, or garrison; they’re getting arrested left and right. By their own colleagues! Can you believe that? And you know I don’t trust their lips to stay closed. How much longer, you think, ‘till they squeal on their supplier? Bet you they already have.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What an annoyance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi sighed. He dropped himself onto one of the rickety, old chairs and threw one leg over the other. Leaning his head back, he commented: “Your ego got the better of you, dumbass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, fucking hell, wasn’t that </span>
  <em>
    <span>just like Kenny</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Leaving his damn calling card all along the upper capital. Rubbing elbows with the crooked politicians. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kenny Ackerman, sir. I ain’t just a drug-runner, no. I’m your friend, here. A real swell guy…</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up.” And just as quick as a second, Kenny slung his pocket knife across the long table; Levi cocked his head and dodged it — with a strong </span>
  <em>
    <span>ding</span>
  </em>
  <span> the knife clattered against the stone wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfazed, Levi asked, “So you gonna kill off our entire clientele just to weed out a few loose lips?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know,” said Kenny. “Why clean up the bottom when I can tackle the issue from the top? But I’ll be honest with you, I would like to flush out some of the double-crossers just to put a little bit of a warning out there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And the bastard did it. Ten dead among the higher political rankings in seven days. And the fucker got his pretty nickname, one he flashed with almost every new introduction: “Kenny the Ripper, ma’am,” and he gave a little curtsey, his yellow teeth all nice and bared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isabel clapped. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ed and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ed. Gave a tiny hoot when Kenny spun on his heel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi hadn’t trusted most, and he knew it was this lack of trust that kept him living. Kenny must have felt the same — their ‘business’ often felt like a revolving door. But, maybe it was Isabel’s childish nature and Farlan’s level head, but something about the two of them had allowed a year to pass without replacement. </span>
</p>
<p><span>She was young, Isabel, but for his first crime, Levi had been younger. And she was, by all accords, earnest and quick-thinking; a fast drug-runner often overlooked by the militant police. She clung to Levi’s waist; she trailed him like a little dog. She nagged him, annoyed him, but in her happy nickname of “</span><em><span>brother” </span></em><span>she used before his name,</span> <span>she had snagged</span> <span>him by the heart. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“You see Farlan?” Levi asked, interrupting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Went up to the surface today,” said Isabel. She threw herself around Levi’s shoulders. Her red hair smelled of vinegar. “To pick up supplies.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And here was the thing about Farlan — he was calm and dependable. A voice of reason. Had life not dealt him poor cards, he could have been a kind and honest man, as soft as his blonde features. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he was an hour late returning to base. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then two hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then three. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A night passed. A morning came. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the third day’s evening, when the tall beacons of light within the underground city dimmed (a poor attempt to emulate a changing sky), the front door rattled. A desperate set of knocks sounded against the door. Farlan’s voice behind the splintering wood: “Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, let me in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He collapsed on the ground upon entry. He struggled onto his elbows, his rib cage rising and falling with labored breaths. Greening bruises and pink, swollen cuts were splattered along his skin. A blood vessel in his left eye had burst — his grey iris looked all the more pale with the bloodied red of the surrounding sclera. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi pulled the man onto his feet; slung an arm around his waist and let Farlan drop his weight against him. Isabel propped him up on the other side, holding him around the lower hips. He groaned at the movement. Asked:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kenny around?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doing errands,” said Levi, which could mean anything. They eased him onto a bed. “What happened?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Farlan groaned against a pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a sting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The military police?” Isabel slammed her hands on the mattress.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. They weren’t wearing uniforms,” said Farlan. He closed his eyes. “I’m so thirsty.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi nodded at Isabel, who dashed out of the room. The soles of her shoes clicked through the hallway and toward the far kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go grab the medical supplies,” Levi began. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, wait,” and Farlan lunged forward, grabbing Levi by the upper arm. His face desperate with worry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Levi,” he said. And, his voice was a harsh whisper. All of his features had twisted into agony. “I did the wrong thing. I did the wrong thing. I’ve gone and ruined it all for us. And I…I never would have, but they threatened my baby brother. You have to understand me. Please, you gotta believe me. I never would otherwise. But, good hell, if there are gods above, they’ve dealt my brother the worst of curses. He’s already dying, Levi. He’s already dying. His life is already so short, and I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t give him any more pain; not from those guys. Please, oh god, please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Farlan leaned forward at the waist, his body slumping. “If Kenny knows, he’ll kill me. Levi—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” Levi hushed. He kept his expression calm. “It’s alright. He won’t know. What’d they ask of you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Our faces… Our names… Where this hide-out is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you told them everything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gods, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” and Farlan’s voice cracked. “I did. We gotta go. How the hell am I still even alive?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isabel was dashing through the long, stone hallway. Water splashed from the edges of the glass. Farlan went quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s only half-filled now, sorry,” she said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“S’okay,” Farlan sniffed. He took a great sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“By the way,” she said. “Kenny just got home.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kenny was antsy. Moving, always. A lit firework searching for the next stretch of sky to explode within. It took only three conversations for Levi to convince him of exchanging a new base for the old; maybe Kenny liked the thrill of conquering. He did it with business dealings, he did it with women; with Levi’s own dependence on the fucker, maybe he had done it with Levi as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The new location came easy — minor threats were all it took to displace the dirty, old thugs that had been squatting within the abandoned, dusty home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice place,” said Kenny. He ran a hand against the wall. “Real wood this is made of. Imported from the surface. Bet I know which tree this came from, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within a day, the entire place was spotless. The two old bastards that were once the occupants had slept in the company of dead bugs and rats—creatures left dead for so long, only the skeletons, fur, and shells remained. Every so often, there was enough dust to sneak beneath the white kerchief around their faces, forcing out a heavy sneeze in the middle of work. Following one, Farlan always gripped his ribs, bent over slightly, and moaned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good on him, keeping his lips shut despite the beating,” said Kenny, not knowing a thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi said nothing in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a basement meant for wine where the space was kept cold and away from the upper floor furnaces. Yet inside, Levi stored two sturdy wooden chairs and a table topped with metal tools he kept shined and neatly organized. He hung a long, grey apron on the back of the door (had nailed a screw through the wood in place of a hook) and set two yellow, rubber gloves the length of his elbows in a bucket nearby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kenny scratched the hair on his chin. “All those bastards are keeping mum over who’s signing the arrest warrants. Seems like an undercover project. Half don’t even know from which government or police division the calls to action are coming from. There’s no paper trail, either.” He spit onto the ground. “What a mess. I’ll have to grab an MP from higher up for an answer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do that,” said Levi, “And I’ll take care of the rest.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the third nail, Levi had stopped counting down from ten — had jammed the instrument between skin and the nail’s free edge and pulled it backwards and upwards. Jimmying it out with nothing more than an annoyed sneer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the idiot (whatever his name was, Levi neither remembered nor cared) continued wailing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air in the cellar had begun to feel stagnant. The inner lining of Levi’s gloves stuck against his finger pads. He frowned. Sitting backwards in his chair, Levi leaned forward, pressing the back-frame against his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I need to ask again before I tear the fourth one off, or can I just go ahead and do it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Wailer (a good enough nickname, whatever) grit the teeth he had left. Bound against his own seat, Mr. Wailer had little options but to suffer. His wrists and elbows were tied with a thick rope against the chair’s arms, his ankles taunt against the wooden legs. An easy office life had afforded him the time to grow fat around his face and belly. But, by the scruff sprouting along his jowls and the deep shadows beneath his eyes, it was apparent he had spent days in this torture room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi tore another nail off. Knew there would be ringing in his ears later from the scream. “I’m just doing this for fun, at this point,” and his tone sounded bored. His expression cold. “But by now, I think you know that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Wailer moaned. Hung his head against his chest and went quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And suddenly in the silence, Levi felt his own heart pounding. Felt the exhaustion. His head fizzing; to look at his own hands felt foreign, as if he were looking through the eyes of a stranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, fuck those nosebleeds. Every time now, that’s all he got. Fuck the desperation of addiction and every win and fail he’d accomplished in the past few weeks. His nostrils were ragged from whatever the hell that Nepenthe substance was. He hated the twitching in his fingers. The comedown, the anxiety, the need, need, need that kept him from sleeping, thinking, breathing, existing. He had enough limitations in his life; to continue sloughing another—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wanted another bit of the damn stuff; he felt too off without it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Mr. Wailer looked up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi was across the room, clicking the metal pliers back onto the tray. He lifted his hands, spreading his fingers — an indication he held no obvious torture devices — before returning to his seat. He sighed. Crossed his arms over the chair’s back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You tired? Let’s take a break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I have—” Mr. Wailer’s voice sounded like a croaking frog — “Water? Food? Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When you talk, you can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Day four. The old bastard had gone delirious. Leg cramps. Complaints of headaches. His body wracked with small shakes and seizures. Levi poured a bit of water into his open mouth — knowing well the bastard would be of no luck should he die from dehydration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Wailer made a choked noise as Levi stepped away. “There’s more,” he rasped. “In the glass.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not asking you hard questions. And, you don’t strike me as loyal as you’d like to show yourself as.” He held up the water. “This is your’s.” Levi set the glass onto the metal tray, exactly in Mr. Wailer’s view. “There’s food as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were tears in the man’s eyes. “I can smell it… Someone cooking with butter.” He babbled on and on, describing the scent, the last supper he had eaten; said his wife’s name three times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. So I’ll ask again, who’s initiated all of the warrants? Tell me that and I’ll give you water.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Mr. Wailer gasped and moaned. He threw his head back, then forward. “I feel like I’m burning up,” he said. “I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’mdying</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’mdyingI’m</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi splashed water onto his face. Pulled a chair up beside him. “On my word, I’ll promise you dinner, water, wine, whatever, and then you can go home.” He catches Mr. Wailer’s eyes. “Which department and which division leader initiated the warrants?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It had to be the same set of bastards that had roughed up Farlan…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can eat? I can have water?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the man cried. Fat, thick tears that shone in the single overhead light of the cellar. “You won’t tell?” he whispered. “My boss? Nobody that I told?” The bastard’s eyes looked crooked, unable to focus on any one place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you can show me proof once I get you out of here, I won’t say a word. I’ll give you water. I’ll give you food. I won’t kill you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man gave a heavy sigh. His voice broke as he whispered:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Detective’s division.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s one in every district. Which one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shiganshina.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where the fuck is Shiganshina?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And,” Mr. Wailer continued, “The Crown supports it all. No matter where you are in the ladder… if you resist the investigation or warrants, you’re arrested. It’s a… It’s a madhouse.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s the commander? Pushing all of this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Wailer shook his head. Looked at the empty glass of water. Gave a great moan; the noise racketed off the stone walls. He lolled his head backward and forward. Physically mad with delirium and guilt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s new,” he finally said, voice raised an octave. “Promoted these last few months… Erwin Smith.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s trains within the inner walls of Eldia; great, steaming carriages that click and clack over wood and iron rails, working almost like a spiral from the innermost portion to the outer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being the farthest jutting of the most outer wall, the trains do not reach Shiganshina… not that Levi minded. He’s mistrustful of most things and can count on one hand the amount of hours he’s spent within a train carriage. Public transport had long been an enigma to him; he had depended only upon his own legs up until his early 20’s. The first thing that had carried him had been a bicycle — the fast wind in his nostrils had created a pseudo-high. Hange had been the first to teach him the workings of a car, and Erwin had corrected the mistakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of all the upperworld’s workings, it was the boats on their rivers that most astounded him. Those long, running bodies of water that were always chill against the skin. These hunkering boats — groaning against the water like animals — that passed beneath the eaves of the three walls. The ships, at least, made port in Shiganshina, carrying the last bit of cargo from the trains into this far-off district.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a dock alongside the river where passengers and goods pass from shore to boat. It’s busy in the early afternoon; cafe tables set near the outer banks play host to sweet talking couples, or older women reading their newspapers. Steam rises from their cups. The autumn cold has blotted the surrounding trees with oranges and yellows and reds. This morning, there was frost atop the grass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi tucks his hands into his coat pockets and watches another boat glide against the dock’s edge. This one carries people. Children press against the boat’s railing, their hair kicked up by the wind; others begin gathering toward the main deck’s closed exit, suitcases in their hands. An old man toward the front checks his pocket watch. Teenagers in cadet uniforms stand together in a great mass, some looking into the lapping water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a shudder along the steamboat when it halts against the dock. A final grey billow of smoke huffs from the smokestacks before a horn blows. The exit gates are lifted. Those seated upon the dock arise, pulling their coats and scarves more tightly around themselves. They wait for the boat to empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shiganshina is the last stop, always. Beyond this last bit of wall is a vast wilderness where all fables and horror stories had been set. As if for warmth, all of Eldia had huddled against one another. Their ancestors — uneducated and superstitious, as one can expect from a society not yet introduced to science — had made stories of monsters to keep the remainder of the Island a horrific enigma. In its current era, they knew it only to be miles of open field, dotted randomly with trees or rivers or mountains; a home not to giants, but to animals and untamed wilderness. The most frightening in those fields: that lonely lack of humanity — why build outward when the surrounding nations gave no welcome from across the sea? Train tracks from outside the walls, once built hundreds of years past, were left to splinter in the sun; workers during certain portions of the year were granted exit visas to gather salt from the sea. Only designated merchants were allowed to transport wares from outer nations. Otherwise, what existed outside of the walls was of little interest to most; civilians attempted to work themselves further towards the nation's richer centers, not outside of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most civilians, anyway. Perhaps not the busy parents that pulled their children along the docks; not the business men carrying fat along their hips. Not the average officer, or these fresh-faced recruits. Instead, the curiosity of total freedom had landed in the minds of idiots — the dreamers, the conspirators, and within the soul of that stubborn brat that had to be nineteen now so </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck would he look like?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi could only imagine Eren as he was; short and sour-looking, with big, green eyes and dark lashes. In the past ten years, Levi had committed only bits of the boy’s features to memory. Random splotches of events — Eren standing on court railing, Eren sobbing into his mother’s scarf; the black and blue on the boy’s skin after a fight, the coldness in his eyes when his lips snarled, ‘Kill him.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Erwin had organized the meeting point; had confirmed the date, method, and time for Eren’s final arrival in Shiganshina. Over the phone to some office, he had said:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure we can trust Eren Jaeger to make his way here on his own,” and shot a smirk toward Levi (slouched bitterly in a chair) as if to say ‘Of course he wouldn’t dare to disappoint </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smartass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A large group of young men and women wander along the dock, dressed in their cadet uniforms — white trousers, orange jackets. They’ve all got that loud-laughing pride. They slap one another’s shoulders with wide grins and bouncy steps. They’re the newest flock of the military police force, or the garrison. With no outer wars to fight (Eldia being the lost sheep of the world), they’ll live well fed and well paid. Given guns and batons and badges and set loose along the streets with the reminder to clock out at the end of their shift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, God, there’s a lot of them. A quarter, at least, from the graduating class — tradition brought them all outwards, spreading north, east, south, and west. From the most outer districts, recruits worked their way in. Applying to each sequential district — pressing onward until the most inner position was offered. And for all who began in the south, they started in Shiganshina.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, somewhere in that mess of brats was Eren, banned from tradition and awaiting the next sentencing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi sighs into his palm. Combs fingers through his hair. He’d curse the situation if he wasn’t so sure he was the only one who could deal with Eren Jaeger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glances through the dwindling crowd again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One kid stands away from the mess of cadets. Brown-haired. Tall. He waits near the water. Kicks a rock with the toe of his boot. Keeps his hands in his pockets. He’s aloof; tensed at the shoulders. He’s too far for Levi to determine eye color, but he’s everything else Eren Jaeger </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi watches him a bit longer, how he paces along the dock’s edge before tilting his face toward the sun. His chest rises and falls; his closed eyes press his lashes against his cheeks. Likely, it’s Eren — Levi’s halfway sure, and it’s enough to move forward; his boots click against the wooden walkway towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Towards Eren. Towards this nineteen-year-old idiot who had indicted himself mid-trial; who had lied through his teeth through almost every intervention. Who had Levi running from one end of the district to another. How the fuck had this brat survived to nineteen. How had this child managed to—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up, horseface!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s the obvious sound of a fist hitting jaw — that crackling of knuckle joints; the dull thunk of a hit against the wide bones of the face. A male voice yelps, another keeps screaming. At the far corner of the dock, a cadet thrashes against another; pounces upon him from the ground. The orange sleeves of his jacket shine in the sun as he lauds repeating punches against the other’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small set of other cadets move toward them, but they walk at a passive pace, laughing and chatting to one another as the bloody fight continues — as if its occurrence was of no great consequence. As if two boys weren’t beating blood out of the other’s nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll fuck you — </span>
  <em>
    <span>God! Fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span> — over!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Levi hadn’t seen a mother pull her child closer, if he hadn’t noticed the old women glance up from their newspapers with sullen, sad eyes, maybe he wouldn’t have turned his feet towards that direction. Maybe he wouldn’t have thought of the headaches </span>
  <em>
    <span>little fucking brats that turn into big corrupt officers</span>
  </em>
  <span> cause, and how deeply, desperately, he fucking loathed the lot of them. Hypocrisy be damned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And this is where they start — as dumb, fucking kids stepping off from their big, fucking, steaming boats; high-headed, loud-mouthed. Beaten into believing their worth was more than the rest. Making idiots of themselves from the beginning onward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two cadets are too enthralled with the other to notice Levi approaching. It’s a humorous sight, almost. They’ve both been beaten to the ground, they lie on their sides facing one another, making final, pathetic attempts at thrashing every limb in hope of a good hit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, Levi deals the final one. He grabs a fistful of their hair — blonde, brunette — in each hand. He slams their skulls against the flooring. It’s a quick, hard motion. Enough to break them from their red-hot daze of fighting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, “Stop acting like kids,” he says, simply. Levi straightens to stand between the two of them, slides his hands into his coat pockets, and watches as the boys grip their heads and groan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, there’s a small gathering of other cadets along the periphery. They sigh and laugh to one another; shake their heads and exchange words. But through this small, happy group, a girl pushes through. Her steps are loud and calculated; she cuts through the crowd at an angry pace. Her shoulders swing as she walks; her hands are gripped into fists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s staring at Levi, her lips parted in a sneer. And in this face, Levi suddenly feels a small spark of recognition — her dark, angled eyes; her slick, black hair. He’s seen a girl like this before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And just as quick as this woman appears, another kid punctures through the crowd, throwing his arms around her waist and pulling her back. The cold sun hits his blonde hair. From the short distance between them all, Levi can see his blue eyes, his rounded nose, the worried expression on his features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says, “Mikasa, wait!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah-ha... Here she is, ten years later: that hard-nosed little girl. Taller, wider, but her face is the same-- expression and all. Of course she had gone and joined the cadet corps. Of course she’s here to tail Eren to the grave; there’s a loyalty between the two of them that seven years of separation could not touch. It’s nice, almost, to see her — to know adoration does not fade, despite a murder conviction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of the boys sits up with a groan. He rubs circles against the side of his head, trying to ease out the pain. Even as he sits, it’s obvious he’s rather tall; he’s got light hair, a long face. He shoots Levi a glare. Sneers when he starts, “Who the hell do you think you ar—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it feels like something warm has curled up into Levi’s stomach, thrashed up his spine and gripped hard around his chest. For the first time, Levi glances at the other boy, who sits up, wide-eyed. Mouth gaping. Green eyes blinking quickly.</span>
</p>
<p><span>And Levi knows. The realization hits him like a train crash. And he almost wants to laugh; </span>how had Levi been so shortsighted. How the fuck could he have assumed that lonely kid on the edge of the dock could have ever matched the turbulence of this boy. Of course this brat — nose bleeding, scuff marks on every bit of his body, hair pulled every which way — was the same damn kid from ten years ago.</p>
<p>
  <span>He was staring at Eren Jaeger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On this episode of 'Nepenthe Abridged:' smell of fucking awesome steak forces man to confess. </p>
<p>I can't stop reading through your comments -- I go through each and every one of them each time before and after I write. Thank you for everything that you've said, and for all of the kudos and interest shown in this fic. Letting me know that I'm portraying a character or situation well (or poorly) gives me the passion to keep going. I LOVE YOU ALL THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS PANDEMIC ONE WORTH LIVING THROUGH.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Out in the world, there are vast, green oceans where water rises in a crest before it falls; higher and higher until it crashes, colliding water into water. Colliding water into earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the sea rises again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi has never seen it, but he feels that similar motion at the sight of Eren’s face. It sweeps through his skull like a crashing wave, everything thrown around in a cataclysmic mess: a swirling torrent not of water, but of imagery. Quick successions heightening and spilling into the next. Mere milliseconds where—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eren’s bleeding from his nose; he’s kneeling against stone; they’re up high, they’re on the wall, they’re—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Eren’s face: and it’s red and mauled and steaming and there’s only one eye barely open and his mouth’s just slightly slack; half dead, half dazed and—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A green hood pulled low; a morning’s drizzle on black eyelashes; green eyes; green forest, tall trees—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A long, dark room: Eren’s hands are in his lap; he laughs — a polite chuckle — but it doesn’t reach his eyes…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That dread of deja vu hits like a slam; just a glance at the boy’s face, and Levi’s head feels hot and tight and warm; a burning sort of headache from the back of his skull to the front. It berates him. Nags him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it all dissipates like a dream. He’s left looking at Eren — this Eren. Not the Eren that his mind had conjured in odd and fantastical settings. Not the Eren that, likely, too many years on Nepenthe (no matter how long ago it was) constructed like a thought disorder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This Eren Jaeger, who now rises to his feet, hands hurrying to run the knots from his hair. This Eren Jaeger, taking his brown rucksack from the ground, swinging it over his shoulder with an anxious grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, there’s that twist in Levi’s gut. His heart is racing too fast. His temples are throbbing…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he swallows it down and blames it on the caffeine and nicotine he’s been running through since dawn. Blames it on lack of sleep. Blames it on Nepenthe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And moves on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi cracks his neck. Pushes a sharp “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tsch</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” through his teeth. “It’s been two minutes, and already you’re giving me a headache.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren offers a sheepish smile. “Sorry, detective. Guess I haven’t changed much, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he has. Sure, he has those same eyes, the ones that hold that same intensity in their focus. Eyes that must pull from the cistern of fire in his soul. And yes, his hair isn’t much longer, and he still pulls the same expressions — holding the greatest amount of tension between his dark brows. Yet, Eren’s changed. Ten years, and he’s grown taller (</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>). Ten years and he’s filled into these wide, rounded shoulders. Ten years, and he has the figure of a soldier, lean and slick-looking. His posture is straighter, his head is held higher. At the edge of his cheek, he wipes the dirt given to him from the blonde boy’s boots and straightens his uniform with a quick graze of the palms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is not the nine year old boy Levi had held in his arms. But it is still, unconditionally, Eren Jaeger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Levi, sir?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s Armin’s voice that shakes him; and, how the fuck Levi remembered the blonde kid’s name is beyond him. How it culled so easily in memory like some oft-referenced report. He’ll blame the haircut of the boy later — too memorable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armin’s still holding tight onto Mikasa, but the girl has stopped on her own accord. She stands still with one foot forward. Staring. Eyes flicking between Levi and Eren. She’s looking for something…  a reaction? An excuse to lunge?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. His headache is only growing stronger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The long-faced boy (whoever the fuck he is) grumbles and stands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Suicidal maniac,” he says to Eren. Yet, there’s no venom in the words. A certain charm lies in his voice. He slaps the back of Eren’s shoulder, enough to push Eren forward by a short distance, before Eren pivots and repeats the same motion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go home and fuck your mom, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Jeanboy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tall boy scoffs. Retorts: “‘Least I have a mom to fuck!” before an immediate grimace mars his features. “Um,” he stammers. “Not… Not that I would! Shit. Just go to hell, Eren!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll send you to hell!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough,” and Levi grabs the neck of Eren’s jacket, yanking him back with enough force for Eren to stumble. The tall boy — Jeanboy? Jean? Jean-Roy? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who the fuck cares</span>
  </em>
  <span> — takes a final look at Eren before giving a final wave to the group… A middle finger.</span>
  <em>
    <span> How fitting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi sighs, his shoulders rising with the exasperated breath in. It’s only the four of them, now, at the edge of the docking area; the sky is still cloudless and bright, the temperature still cold enough to make their breath spill out in white vapor. Glancing between these three dumb kids, Levi says:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should’ve guessed you’d all be stupid enough to follow Eren into training.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikasa’s features do not change. She remains a predator eyeing prey. Levi knows that look; has felt that sort of intensity himself. Armin’s eyes dart to the side, a red flush blotching his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren’s standing too close. His breath is too warm and it’s spilling over the tip of Levi’s left ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Armin gives a forced chuckle. “Yeah, well,” he says. “Maybe it put the idea in my head, but I’ve always been fascinated with the way government and law works… You have to at least start off as a cadet to move into that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mikasa doesn’t miss a beat. “I joined for Eren.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi frowns. Her glare is exhausting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside him, Eren snorts. “I can take care of myself, Mikasa—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Levi snaps. He steps away from the group — away from Eren’s voice that’s far too loud in his ear. “Glad to see the banter is still healthy. I’m going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren’s behind him again. “Wait, detective —”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eren!” Mikasa’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mikasa, hold on. Wait,” and it’s Armin. His tone completely calm. A skill obviously well trained as the peacemaker of the trio. “Detective Levi, if you don’t mind… Can we come visit Eren? Tomorrow? Um, Eren gave us your address... If it’s still the same as before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi shoots Eren a glare. Rolls his eyes. “I don’t give a shit. Do whatever you want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Levi’s car is a compact, ugly thing. Two doors. A black, shining color. Rounded headlights and body. Like all cars, it rattles as it works. The bench seats have frayed from exposure to the sun. When it rains, the front wipers clunk and squeal over the glass. It expels that heady smell of gas as it runs — no different from any other car in the whole of Eldia.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the short car ride home, Eren had cranked down his side window and kept his eyes fixed on the framed world outside. His dark hair flutters in the oncoming air. He’s awkward. Fidgeting. Nervous. His hands rattle against his thighs, beating out the rhythm of a song Levi cannot recognize.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been quiet for the last five minutes. Probably, Levi figures, there’s too much to say; overwhelming to the point of clogging Eren’s throat. And for Levi himself, even… where do you begin in this? Ten years; the last Levi had seen of Eren was as a little child in a dark, cold cage. Now the hands of a child have been exchanged for a man’s — long, slender fingers with squared knuckles, hitting against thighs that are longer than Levi’s own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he’s honest, he hates how astounded he is by this brat. Hates how equally foreign and familiar the silhouette of him seems. But it goes beyond the scope of matured features; there’s something else, still, nagging Levi’s thoughts — a harsh pull that only makes his head pound even harder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi parks his groaning car along the street and Eren turns, stretching into the backseat to grab for his rucksack. The muscles in his body press tight against his uniform. His arms are long enough to take the item with ease. He steps out from the car, the cold, white sun against his face — his hair glows in the light. He smiles timidly at Levi before following close behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi’s head has stopped throbbing by the time he unlocks his apartment door. He watches Eren shuffle off his boots and drop his bag to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Eren stands still. An animal caught in a car’s headlights. His eyes trace one edge of the apartment to another before falling onto Levi.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, finally, his mouth opens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m… I’m really happy to be home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi’s chest feels heavy suddenly; the comment carrying weight like water in his lungs. He swallows. “You lived here for, what? A month, give or take? You really think of it like that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren frowns. “Where else do I have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Your family home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Levi wants to say, but the place has long been abandoned and re-occupied with cruel memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. Slides his socked feet into slippers and goes to fill a glass of water in the kitchen. Without turning back, he says, “Glad I didn’t move, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And in the quiet of the room, Eren’s voice is so small that, maybe, the words were not meant for Levi’s ears:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not about that…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, he ignores it. Ignores the prick of pity and emotion that digs into his thoughts. Eren’s standing behind him again. As a child, the brat had always kept close. Where with others he stayed aloof and far-footed, he had clung to Levi’s leg to the point of compulsion. But back then, it was manageable — almost cute, if not slightly frustrating. Yet, now, there was a man-brat, tall enough where —when Eren exhaled— his hot breath spilled over the tip of Levi’s neck and ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It rakes an uncomfortable shiver down Levi’s spine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shoves the glass of water into Eren’s hands and steps away. “Your breath stinks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” says Eren. He flushes. Stares into the water glass. “Sorry. Um. The food they gave us on the ship wasn’t that nice, so I guess I’m not surprised.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You going to unpack?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yes, sir!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within a few hours, there’s an odd, natural quality with having Eren around again. His presence slips in as neatly as a puzzle piece. He unpacks and organizes quietly. Walks softly between rooms and the hall. At some point, Levi hears the bathroom faucet running; the sounds of a toothbrush scrubbing against teeth. It’s dreamlike, almost, to see this half-familiar boy haunting the apartment — a contorted memory of the child Levi had almost adored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the early evening, Eren takes a shower, the steam slipping beneath the crack of the bathroom door. Levi leans against the doorframe of the boy’s bedroom and eyes the minimal items within. He’s organized, and if it’s by way of Eren’s own personality, or as an attempt to impress Levi, Levi isn’t sure. Nevertheless, Eren’s jacket hangs within the open closet. Books — some titles familiar — are stacked neatly on the desk. A single pair of pajamas — a long-sleeved white top with dark brown bottoms that cut off at the calves — are folded neatly on the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bathroom door opens and, once again, Eren stands close beside him, his hair wet and clinging to the edges of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s put back on the same clothes he had worn earlier — those white military pants and loose top. Levi cocks his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t those be laundered?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um, don’t have anything else to wear, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not some military captain, Eren. You don’t have to say ‘sir’ after every damn sentence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, sir — I mean…!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever. Do what’s comfortable.” Levi starts down the hallway. “Just stop wearing those dirty clothes. Come here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They go into Levi’s bedroom, where Levi unfolds a number of shirts and trousers. He looks between the items, to Eren, and back again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re too goddamn tall,” he grumbles. “How the fuck do you not have any other clothes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, only this uniform was required, and I just wore Armin’s stuff when we did laundry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’d you wear in the prison?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, what a weird question.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A uniform there, too. But I didn’t… want to wear that into the army…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you just arrived naked to the barracks?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, um, just wore my sleeping clothes. They kinda look like a normal outfit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi sighs. “For fuck’s sake, Eren.” He hands him the largest set of clothing he finds. “Just keep these. I’ll give you money to go shopping tomorrow. Consider it a graduation gift.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren changes in his own bedroom. And it’s weird to see him when he re-enters the kitchen. Weird to see the brat in Levi’s own clothing. But the fit is alright enough to almost look natural. Eren’s face is red, his fingers gripping the hem of the shirt. He eyes the stack of paperwork Levi shifts through on the kitchen table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Case files?” Eren asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi hands him a thick folder — an older case, the details within already released to the public. “Knock yourself out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren sits (funny how, even still, he favors the exact spot at the table he had as a kid). Flips one paper over the next. “Are these your drawings on this? Of the body positions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren squints. Tilts his head. “They’re not very good…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up.” Levi snaps the file out of Eren’s hands, settling it back onto the stack. “What do you want for dinner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can cook,” says Eren. “If you want to keep working.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For once, what Eren makes is not the sloppy sort of meal that had been his expertise in childhood. He cooks a soldier’s dinner: boiled potatoes with salt, cabbage softened in oil and pepper, and the thighs of a chicken coated in limited spices. It’s bland. Simple. The same thing Erwin eats on those rare, drunk occasions when Levi stays overnight. There’s a familiarity in the dish, even if by second-hand introduction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Eren cooks, Levi watches the back of his shoulders. Eyes the protruding dots of his spine down his tilted neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the evening, Levi prepares a cup of black tea and listens to Eren attempt to tune the radio. Static. Static. A few bars of the national anthem. Static. Static. A snippet of King Reiss’ recorded voice. Static. The rising note of a violin; on this radio station, Eren remains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s lying languid on the settee, stretched out on his stomach. With his head cradled between his folded arms, he falls asleep to the quiet melancholy of violins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi allows two more hours to pass in this steady calm. Yet, the details of his cases become lost in the foggy trenches of his mind. He re-reads and re-reads, yet nothing sticks. He finds his eyes tracing elsewhere, stuck to white walls in thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his bedroom closet, he had kept the few letters Eren had sent over the years. The first letter had been the longest, mailed during Eren’s first week at the prison. He had detailed the lay of the converted manor, described the aspects of his small, oft-locked room. Mentioned the children’s sports team he was invited to join; said he didn’t get on well with the wardens, but they were “</span>
  <em>
    <span>idiots anyway, so I don’t care</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The handwriting and spelling was abysmal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The second letter was an apology, sent following another escape attempt. Eren must have been fourteen when it was written. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I just hate it here. I hate these walls. I can’t leave. I can’t do anything. I feel like some damn animal! And everyone else just puts up with it. I can’t believe how stupid they are. I can’t believe how stupid our entire country is, because it’s just the same outside of here. Someone told me the warden called you about what I did. Sorry they bothered you, detective</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the final: “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I took an oath this week and graduated from the cadet corps. I hope you still remember me, Detective Levi. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Everyone tells me I’m still a brat. Sorry that hasn’t changed.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eren.” Levi lifts a leg and shoves the heel of his socked foot against the boy’s left shoulder blade. Eren grumbles. Sighs. Lifts his head and blinks with small, tired eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m turning out the lights. Are you gonna sleep here, or in your own bed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My own bed.” Eren’s voice is rough with sleep. The space beneath his eyes are dark and hollow-looking. He sits up and rubs his hands against his face before following Levi down the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And in the half-dark house, it’s sudden: near his bedroom door, Eren reaches out. His fingers gently grasp the back of Levi’s shirt. He hangs on for a moment, still and quiet. Levi glances over his shoulder and waits for him to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eren’s eyeing the floor. He shifts on his feet. His lips press together before they part. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Levi,” and his voice is low. “Thank you for everything. I really, um… Today has been the happiest day I’ve ever had since… everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi feels the edge of his own mouth twitch. That juvenile prison camp must have been a headache, sure, but certainly in the cadet corps (with Armin and Mikasa there, at least), Eren must have been happy here and there. At least, Levi wants to believe that. Surrounded in a dorm-like setting with that rush of sense and purpose, there had to have been brighter days than this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, really, what does it matter? There are facts and there are feelings. Being swept up in current moments will always dull the emotions of the past. If at this moment Eren is the happiest he’s ever been, so be it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Levi attempts a smile. Pats the boy on the side of the face. “Welcome home, Eren.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes are wet when he says, “I’m glad to be home, sir.”  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On this episode of 'Nepenthe Abridged:' "ten years and ten times hotter" confuses local man. </p>
<p>I love you all so much. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before the boat had docked, before Eren had hit like a ricochet back into Levi’s existence, Erwin had leaned forward in his seat, pressed his lips against his folded hands, and smiled. </p><p>“You’re giddy,” had said Levi. The ebb and flow of the day was waning. Phones no longer ringing, the chatter of colleagues no longer bouncing around the halls. As usual — as always —it was only the two of them left in the department. </p><p>“I’m fascinated,” had said Erwin. He had that energy — steady, assured, and delighted. Like he could hum behind his lips at any moment. “There are unanswered questions.”</p><p>“You speak like a professor.”</p><p>“I suppose I’m still like my father.“</p><p>Levi shook his head. “The kid’s bullshit with us has ended. He’ll be back in Shiganshina. So what? It’s not an excuse to refuel your curiosity. I’m giving him a place to stay, not reopening a case.”</p><p>“Perhaps.”</p><p>“Perhaps, what?</p><p>Erwin looked to Levi. “Do you trust me?”</p><p>And Levi could feel his own shoulders drop. The tension not easing but, simply, giving up. What a question. This bastard. In the past, they had held knives to one another’s throats; in the past, Levi had wailed and cracked and bled while Erwin had silently looked over, not a marr upon his features. This asshole. Levi had dealt with scum — Levi was scum, himself — and so he knew the hell that erratic confidence could cause; he knew the dead-ends and losses hog-wild planning could give. </p><p>Yet, here was Erwin: starry-eyed enough to seek achievement, yet all the more cruel enough to achieve it. In the scope of it all, Erwin somehow could always produce a means to an end, no matter how bloody the path.</p><p>For everything Levi had hated him for, Levi all the more revered him for it. </p><p>And so he sighed, as he had always done. Laid his palms flat upon the table and said:</p><p>“I trust you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first time it happens is in the morning after Eren’s arrival. Deep within the hue of the dawn, the air chills to the bone. Eren stands behind Levi, his arms wrapped around himself. Shoulders, randomly, jumping in a chill. The boy breathes out a shiver, the hot air curling against the back of Levi’s neck. Eren’s leaning forward, bent at the waist. He squints his eyes into the dark hull of the old furnace.</p><p>“We had these,” he says through chattering teeth, “In our barracks, too. I should’ve just lit the fire, but I didn’t know, um, where the wood was.”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Levi’s sitting on his haunches and feeding wood into the black, old furnace in the living room. And it’s a haggard, old thing, this little furnace — decades old, it had been sopped up with soot and rust on the day Levi had moved in. The upkeep of it was his bane, but a necessary evil.</p><p>He shoves another piece of firewood within — its landing on the others giving that satisfying <em>clack-clunk-clack. </em>He lights a match. “Didn’t expect it to be so fucking cold already.”</p><p>Eren chuckles. He’s got his cadet’s jacket wrapped around himself — looking half ridiculous with so serious a uniform over the slack fit of his sleeping clothes.</p><p>Not that Levi is much better; his get-up is all the more stupid, and he knows it. A striped set of pajamas with his long, green detective’s coat thrown over. Socks under black slippers. His hair frayed away from his face. Bags beneath the eyes.</p><p>Eren shifts on his feet and eases down to squat directly beside him. He holds his open palms toward the tiny flame. Closes his eyes and sighs. “I can feel it… The feeling in my hands again.”</p><p>Levi snorts.</p><p>“Sorry you’ve been living so cushy, only to come back here and die of hypothermia.”</p><p>“Bah. At least here I have blankets.”</p><p>Levi doesn’t ask, but the guilt stings nonetheless; that quick thought of Eren clutching only himself in the cold.</p><p>Levi jabs at the fire. Sets the iron poker to the side and—</p><p>Suddenly, Eren slouches over.</p><p>And they’re shoulder to shoulder. It’s a sudden weight. No simple, accidental bump. Eren’s feet slide out from beneath his bent legs; he sits his ass upon the floor, slow and purposeful.</p><p>He puts all of his weight onto Levi and lingers… As if he had been invited.</p><p>It’s by instinct that Levi goes rigid; he feels his own body tense at the unexpected touch. He can hear — and feel — Eren take a quick breath, holding it in his lungs with anxious anticipation.</p><p>…<em> Anticipation </em>?</p><p>Levi doubts himself for a moment, wondering if his immediate gut feeling had read Eren wrong. If, maybe, his brain had only processed the physical aspect of the movement before understanding the possible naive sentimentality.</p><p>
  <em> Just a lost, little boy needing comfort, just like he always had. </em>
</p><p>But.</p><p>So close… so, so close. Levi can see the glow of the tiny fire dancing life onto Eren’s face. He can smell the soapy scent of his hair. The scent of mint toothpaste — did he brush his teeth immediately upon waking… <em> at four in the morning </em>? His eyes are bright; flickering with nerves. His lashes are dark, dark, dark against the soft rise of his cheeks.</p><p>And, maybe, because Levi doesn’t immediately move, or maybe, because Eren had expected Levi to strike or give some biting comment that had not immediately come, Eren leans in further. He slouches lower, until his head lolls to the side and comes to rest against the rounded crest of Levi’s shoulder. There’s a red flush staining his cheeks. He gnaws his lower lip. He’s so obviously anxious. Heart likely throbbing from his chest to his throat. His eyes are skittering from Levi, to the fire, to Levi, to the fire, to Levi, onto Levi, Levi, only Levi— </p><p>And in that, it’s utterly obvious that Eren knows what he’s doing. That there’s clearly a line he knows he is breaching. No, at least in the most obvious of terms, he’s no longer some little, lost boy needing assurance. No innocent thing desperate for any kindness the cruel world can give. Or, maybe, he does want all that; always will, most likely.</p><p>But this goes beyond that — beyond something simple.</p><p>Four in the morning. Dressed only in sleep clothes and warm, mismatched coats pulled on out of desperation. Crouched together before the small warmth of a fire as the morning eekes into the room. Eren against his shoulder; Eren working the courage to press his body closer, his breath hot and sweet smelling against the edge of Levi’s jaw—</p><p>This is not just familiarity.</p><p>It’s—</p><p>… <em> Intimacy </em>.</p><p>“Eren.”</p><p>And the brat physically flinches. He’s so damn obvious in his face. Always has been.</p><p>His voice hitches when he says, “Sir?”</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?”</p><p>Quick as a cat, Eren jerks himself away. He scoots rightward to give space between them both. He swallows — Adam’s apple bobbing at the motion.</p><p>“Sorry, sir. My apologies, sir. I… I didn’t get much sleep, sir. I’m just… tired.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”</p><p>“I’m not, really, used to such a nice mattress. I haven’t been in one like that since… I mean, <em> you know </em>, when I was a kid. So I couldn’t sleep and I’m feeling kind of—”</p><p>Levi stands. Slides his hands into his coat pockets. He says with a calm ease:</p><p>“Sleep on the floor, then. Maybe that’s more your comfort level.”</p><p>“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”</p><p>Levi cocks a brow. Eren stares up at him from the floor.</p><p>“Eren, I’m joking. Fucking hell.”</p><p>“Oh, um.” Eren gives a nervous chuckle. “I see.”</p><p>Back in his bedroom, Levi had pulled the curtains closed. Had brought the thick comforter up past his ears. He sighs into the edge of his pillow. Unable to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>He’s touchy with Armin. Or, more-so than what Levi had expected. Physical as he was, Eren’s means of communication often depended upon brute and violent force — a similarity between the two of them that Levi could acknowledge. Where words failed him, Eren responded in movement; brash and unkind and without regard. Levi had pegged him as difficult and bullheaded. He was an electric jolt that stung whatever touched him; he eased down on his defenses only when desperate. He had clung to Levi like a chain, only because Levi was just as willing to hurt; a comfort found in the similarity between two ruined humans.</p><p>But—</p><p>Eren’s hand touches the middle of Armin’s back. He bumps a shoulder against his. They’re leaning over the patio banister together. Close. Eren turns his face and laughs.</p><p>He is warm. Gentle, caring, radiant. A two sided coin, then.</p><p>Levi figures, sometimes, that he assumes he knows Eren better than he actually does.</p><p>The glass door to the patio slides open. The girl, Mikasa, in her skirts and buttoned top, steps into the living room. Her cardigan is pulled around herself. A red scarf wrapped around her neck. But, the temperature in the house is at a steady warmth, billowed out by the black furnace they had set fire to this morning.</p><p>This morning. Had Levi overthought it all? Had he wrongly read the situation as being similar to other experiences? Compact bars. Cold offices. The dark-colored walls of Erwin’s bedroom. Hange’s fox-like eyes when she pushes up her glasses. Hot breath in his ear; bodies leaning close. There’s always one brave step forward before people are thrown together like a smear — one movement that is out of the norm for what the relationship had been prior. Levi can read people. He knows people. Understands the mess of human desperation. Knows that, at times, anyone will do. Has been on both sides.</p><p>Had Eren — almost twenty-years-old and well past the age of innocence — not meant it like that?</p><p>He… had read it wrong. <em> Shit </em>. He must have read Eren wrong.</p><p>“You.”</p><p>The girl’s standing above him, close to the settee where Levi had sat staring, blank-faced, into a book (<em> Upkeep of Home Appliances </em> by Frans Vogel, a poorly organized slop of paragraphs and pictures). She’s got that steady leer again. Cold, sharp eyes. A slanted mouth. Levi shuts his book and returns the glare.</p><p>And she says, very oddly, very manner-of-fact, in a sense of certainty that Levi cannot understand:</p><p>“What do you remember? For me, it’s very little.”</p><p>It takes him a moment to process the question.</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>Her face flickers in surprise before settling back into its reserve. She says, more hushed, “How is your memory?”</p><p>
  <em> What kind of question is that? </em>
</p><p>“As good as anyone else’s. Why?”</p><p>“Your last name is Ackerman.”</p><p>“Right. Your’s as well. I remember.”</p><p>Fuck. <em> This better not be some long, lost family-member reveal; a cousin or niece, or some sappy shit like that. </em></p><p>She’s looking for something in his face. Her hands are fisted at her sides. Whatever she wants to hear, it’s obvious he’s not meeting that expectation. She opens her mouth—</p><p>And the glass door slides open once more. Armin’s voice flutters in with a happy high-pitch.</p><p>“Um! Detective Levi, sir! It’s very nice to see your home. Thank you for allowing us to visit.”</p><p>Eren follows behind, coming to stand awkwardly at Armin’s side. His eyes float along the walls, unable to look at Levi directly. He’s been refusing eye contact all afternoon.</p><p>“I was just telling Eren about how special it is to know a detective from Shiganshina — we’re lucky to live here, in a weird way. Our police force may be underfunded compared to the rest, and maybe we’re not ahead of the curve like the inner cities, but you and Commander Erwin have the most solved cases of any other Investigations Department in all of Eldia.”</p><p>Armin’s beaming. His eyes are wide and blue and bright. How long will it take before actual field work breaks him?</p><p>He continues: “I know many cadets will be applying to your department, sir. Anyone who gets the position to train under you will be lucky.”</p><p>And Levi glances at Eren before standing straight. He stretches his left arm over his chest, popping a satisfying crack out of a joint.</p><p>And, “Well,” Levi says. He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Let’s see about that. Do you feel lucky, Eren?”</p><p><em>T</em><em>hat</em> gets the brat to finally meet Levi’s gaze. And it is, by all accounts, a very lovely look of shock.</p><p>His voice is the back of his throat when Eren whispers,</p><p>“<em> What </em>?”</p><p>Levi rolls his eyes. “Did you think you’d be living here for free?”</p><p>“But I’m…”</p><p>“A graduated cadet needing a job… Idiot.” </p><p> </p><p>Evening, and they’re alone in the kitchen. The <em> tip-tap-tip </em> of a knife’s edge against a wooden cutting board. Levi’s trying to not make eye contact with the cigarette drawer — hasn’t had a smoke since this morning and that’s something to be damn well pleased by. But, nevertheless, it’s making him jittery. </p><p>Eren’s been distant. Standing at the edges of rooms. He had embraced both Mikasa and Armin as they left through the door; nodded his head to the suggestion of “next week.” The girl had said nothing more to Levi. She caught his eyes as she exited but only gave a short nod, as if he were supposed to understand something from the day’s encounter. </p><p>It’s been one day, and already things are feeling odd. The heady scent of rosemary drifts upward from the boiling soup. Eren’s at the kitchen table, silently peeling potatoes. He drops a curled line of potato skin into the wastebasket at his feet. </p><p>And something prompts him; Levi isn’t sure what. If Eren had finally folded from the silence, or if the long process of his thoughts finally landed him on the subject. Or, if maybe the nick given to him from the potato peeler (“<em> Shit </em> ,” <em> he had cursed, and threw his thumb against his tongue to smear away the leaking blood </em>) had forced the need for conversation. Whatever the case, he stands at the sink, running his thumb beneath cold water, and at last says:</p><p>“I’m sorry for this morning.”</p><p>And when it’s put into an apology, Levi realizes how stupid it all is. How, there are worse things in the world than some hormonal brat trying to make a pass. Or, more likely, worse things than a stupidly innocent, tired boy upon your shoulder. </p><p>He says, a bit coldly, “There’s nothing to apologize for.”</p><p>Eren blinks. He’s looking at Levi. Brows pulled back in concern. “But I shouldn’t have…” he starts. “I mean, I’m just kinda embarrassed.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I don’t…” He looks away. Cheeks red. “...really know why.”</p><p>“You said it yourself. You were tired.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And fuck knows I’ve dealt with your needy ass before. Just don’t go around acting like I’m your fucking mom, or dad, or uncle or some shit. I don’t have time for that.”</p><p>
  <em> Because that’s what it had to have been, right? If he is actually this touchy in general, like with Armin... If it wasn’t about— </em>
</p><p>“I’ve never seen you in that way,” says Eren quickly. His voice is forceful: “Ever.”</p><p>And Levi’s… not sure how to feel about that. So he slots it away into the mental category of ‘figure it out later.’</p><p>“Alright. Well. As I said, it’s not a big deal.”</p><p>Eren still looks unconvinced. He shuts off the sink water and stares at his thumb. Levi glances at the cut. Asks:</p><p>“You remember where the medical box is?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. “It’s alright. It’s just a small cut anyway.”</p><p>“<em> Tsk </em>. Small enough to bleed over any food you touch. Fucking disgusting. Wait here. Don’t touch anything.”</p><p>And Levi brings out the medical kit and hands him a bandage. Rolls his eyes when Eren struggles to undo the wrapper.</p><p>“Give it to me. You’re still such a damn kid.”</p><p>He grabs the bandage from Eren’s fingers. Peels back the packaging and steadies Eren’s hand against his own. </p><p>“Idiot,” he sighs once he’s wrapped it around Eren’s thumb. And as if for good measure, he taps a fist against Eren’s forehead: <em> use your brain </em>. </p><p>Eren tests out his finger — flexes and un-flexes. “Thank you,” he says softly. </p><p>Levi returns to his half-cut line of carrots on the chopping board. Takes the knife into his hand and cuts through them with a quick ease. <em> Tip-tip-tip-tip… </em> He slides the next carrot to the middle <em> . Tip-tip-tip-tip </em>.</p><p>Eren watches from over Levi’s shoulder. He stands a foot away, arms crossed against his chest. Still a bit stand-offish, but his shoulders, at least, have relaxed.</p><p>“Detective Levi,” he says, watching. “You’re really good with a knife.”</p><p>“If I remember correctly,” says Levi flatly, “You are too.”</p><p>The kid’s smart — he recognizes the jab immediately. A shocked, little laugh spills out from his gut; quick and loud as a thunderclap. He rocks backwards on a foot with the outburst; his expression a mixture of amusement and surprise. He shakes his head, and when he rocks forward, he’s close by again. Back to the spot directly behind Levi; the spot he had been haunting all of yesterday.</p><p>“Asshole,” Eren smiles. His breath skirting Levi’s ear.</p><p>Levi lifts up the knife in a mock threat. Doesn’t bother looking over his shoulder when he says, “What happened to ‘sir?’”</p><p>“That was a cruel comment, <em> sir </em>.”</p><p>“Much better. Peel the potatoes already. This time, try not to cut off your shitty hand.”</p><p> </p><p>Over dinner, Eren states: “I thought I was on probation.”</p><p>“What probation?”</p><p>“The whole… reason I’m living with you.”</p><p>“Tch.” Levi shrugs a shoulder. Takes his cup of tea by the rim and holds it near his face. “I guess. There’s no legally binding ruling or document about it.”</p><p>Eren cocks his head. His arms are folded over the table. “There isn’t? But, I thought—”</p><p>“It’s all verbal, and from ten years ago, no less. What’s that shit that lawyers say? ‘Get everything in writing?’ So I suppose it’s moot.”</p><p>“Moot…”</p><p>“‘Debatable.’”</p><p>“Ah, okay.”</p><p>“So, really,” and Levi takes a sip from his cup before settling it back onto the table, “Legally, it isn’t an issue for you to work in the department.”</p><p>“And non-legally?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Eren spins his spoon within the bowl; the kid’s never had much of an appetite. “You keep saying ‘legally.’ So would there be an issue that isn’t in writing?”</p><p>“You <em> are </em> personally aware that the department you’re invited to join <em> did </em> convict you for manslaughter ten years ago?”</p><p>“That doesn’t bother me.”</p><p>“Pragmatic.”</p><p>“Um, could you pass the bread? Please?”</p><p>“You forgot the—”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Shut up, Jaeger.”</p><p>Levi hands over the bread. He watches as Eren tears pieces from a small loaf and drops it in his soup.</p><p>“Gross,” says Levi.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“You eat bread like a duck.” He waves a hand towards Eren’s bowl. “All damn soggy.”</p><p>“Do you know how <em> hard </em> the bread was in prison? It’s old habits, sir.”</p><p>“Eren, I’m beyond aware of how shitty that excuse of bread was in the prison system.”</p><p>Three quick blinks, that’s all Eren gives. Momentary confusion before he knits his brow.</p><p>“You were a prison guard,” he says with a low-toned confidence.</p><p>Levi snorts. He swats a breadcrumb from the table. “Listen. What we were talking about before: I’m not some prison guard. Not then, or now. You did your sentence. You deserve your freedom. I’m not taking that away from you, like I wouldn’t want anyone to take it away from me. You can leave here if you want. You don’t have to accept the job offer at the department. The only thing you’d be doing is displeasing some higher-ups if you don’t stay. But, fuck ‘em.”</p><p>“Would I disappoint you?”</p><p>“I don’t care either way, Eren. Just choose something and stick with it.”</p><p>There’s a lull from the other side of the table. Eren’s face rests in his open palm, his other hand ferries soup from one curve of the bowl to another with the push of a spoon. The edge of his lip quivers. His eyes are cast downward, deep in thought.</p><p>Finally:</p><p>“Sir, you’re really…” And Eren’s face has softened. There’s something almost kind and sweet in those eyes. “You’re really a lot like me, aren’t you? Or, we’re like each other.”</p><p>Levi shakes his head. “I’m going to take everything back—”</p><p>“No, no,” and Eren bares his palms and gives an awkward grin. “Um. Sorry. You’re right. That was sappy and stupid. But, I mean: I want to stay. I do. I’m actually really happy about the chance to be a junior detective.” He gives an embarrassed sigh. “It was my dream to be a detective, even before—” He waves a hand. “Everything.” </p><p>“I don’t know what Erwin will put you up to.” </p><p>“That’s okay.” </p><p>“You’ll have to deal with Hange again.” </p><p>“It’s fine. She’s intense, but she’s nice.”</p><p>“It’s mostly paperwork.” </p><p>Eren shakes his head. He clears the table. “It’s alright,” he says. And there’s something actually there; something in his expression that has to be believed. </p><p><em> It’s alright </em>, he had said. </p><p>He’s happy. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Before the boat had docked, before Eren had hit like a ricochet back into Levi’s existence, Levi had followed the sound of his own voice. Through his own office door, down the hall, to the main room, until it hit like a muffled lilt in his ears, just behind the closed space of Erwin’s office. </p><p>Voices. </p><p><em> ‘ </em> <em> Can I tell you about what I read today? From my history book?’ </em></p><p>
  <em> ‘Don’t make it too long.’ </em>
</p><p>It’s Levi’s own voice. The sound crackled and whirled — noises committed to a tape that’s deteriorated over time. </p><p>There was a pause and then the screech of a tape player. The clicking of machinery. And then a voice returns... A child’s voice… Eren’s?</p><p>‘<em> Eldians didn’t always live on this island. We used to live in a lot of places, like </em>—“</p><p>Another jittering squeal of a tape player. Then, the same little voice continued:</p><p>“—<em> So that’s why no other countries allow everyday Eldians like us to visit. </em>’</p><p>‘<em> Uh-huh. </em>’ His own voice, again. </p><p>Levi stared at the closed door before he brought up his hand; rattled his knuckles against the door. Didn’t wait for an answer before he stepped inside.</p><p>It was late. The entire building had gone dark and quiet. The ebb and flow of the day had waned. Phones no longer ringing, the chatter of colleagues no longer bouncing around the halls. As usual — as always —it was only the two of them left in the department. </p><p>A single lamp on Erwin’s desk had been lit, the yellow-color watt illuminating only the immediate space. And in this light, Erwin wrote. Wet, black ink upon a leather-bound notebook. A pile of books — old and frayed in their bindings — were directly within his reach. </p><p>And as suspected, there was a tape player, spilling out nonsense. </p><p>Levi doesn’t wait: “And what the hell are you doing?”</p><p>A huff of amusement escaped Erwin’s nose. “I was thinking about the Jaeger case,” he said, not bothering to glance up. “And I got nostalgic.”</p><p>Levi crossed his arms. Shook his head. “Leave it to you to get nostalgic over a murder case.” </p><p>“I never listened to these tapes myself. Have you?”</p><p>“I left that boring job to Hange.”</p><p>“I see.” And Erwin’s hand hovered over the machinery buttons. A forefinger clicked against a plastic button. The voices reared to life. </p><p>“Listen,” said Erwin. </p><p>Eren’s voice: ‘...<em> My dad told me something else </em>.’</p><p>And Erwin tapped again against the keys like a sonata well played. He knew where to begin, and where to stop; memorized from repetition.</p><p>‘<em> My dad said… A long time ago, we used to be titans. </em>’</p><p>And here Erwin paused. His hand suspended just above the device once the button had been pressed. A pianist waiting for his applause. </p><p>“What do you think?” he asked. </p><p>“That there are better things to do.”</p><p>Erwin smiled. Shook his head. </p><p>“My father,” and Erwin’s hand reached out to settle upon the books atop his desk. “Had believed in something similar. Not those words exactly, but of the belief that there is a great truth being kept from us.”</p><p>And it was so damn obvious in Erwin’s eyes. Bright. Glinting. A man who had struck gold. </p><p>“You’re giddy,” had said Levi. </p><p>Erwin breathed out a chuckle. </p><p>“I’m fascinated.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week on ‘Nepenthe Abridged:’ weird things keep happening  — local man decides shoulder bump the weirdest.</p><p>Thank you, a million times over, for making the process of writing this a joy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When the migraine hit, it was blinding. A hot, searing shot down the middle of the brain. The edges of Levi’s skull ached and pounded. White, fizzy light spotted his vision. A shock ran through each vertebra of his spine.</p><p>The vertigo hit after; the retching, the dizziness, the loss of equilibrium. Farlan had dragged him down a dead-ended alleyway, shoved Levi’s body between garbage and pressed himself against the wall.</p><p>“What do I do? <em> What do I do </em>?” Farlan was panicking aloud; his chest rising and falling quick, quick, quick.</p><p>Of all the fucking times… Of all the fucking times to get the worst of withdrawl symptoms, <em> it had to be when the goddamn military police were on their heels </em>. What was left was a hideout riddled by bullets. Windows broken. Tables overturned. Like an animal, Kenny had sensed danger before the first officer had knocked the front door down — had broken a back window, crawled out through the sharpened glass with his guns at his side.</p><p>They didn’t catch him.</p><p>In the raid, Levi, half-passed out on the slick, cold floor of the washroom, had jolted upright at the sound of banging. Farlan had kicked in the locked washroom door; dragged Levi out by the underarms.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” he had wailed. “Our second hideout… I don’t know how they—!”</p><p>“Shut up! Shut up!” Any noise was hurting. Any spec of light. Any touch. Anything, everything. Fuck.</p><p>In another room, a blast rattled the walls. The sound of quick footfalls. Yelling. A gunshot. Isabella’s voice: ‘<em> Let me go </em>!’</p><p>Farlan had thrown Levi through the ground-floor window and crawled out after him. His adrenaline must have hit fast, or Levi had lost too much weight in his weeks of suffering, but whatever it was and however it was, Farlan tossed him over his shoulder and hit the ground running. Through back gardens (all dirt), through streets (rat infested), around houses (in shambles). Around alleyways. Through the market and beyond.</p><p>And they were always there behind them. A quick, little army of police bastards. Losing them only when the crowd became too thick.</p><p>In the dead-end alleyway, Levi retched again. Wrapped an arm around his stomach and panted. Leaned forward. Rested his forehead against a cold, stone wall.</p><p>“We have to get Isabella,” he said in a hoarse whisper.</p><p>Farlan nodded. His teeth were tearing into his lower lip. “I hear them,” he said quietly. “They’re in the market square… I hear them. One street over. Do you hear them too? Is that Isabella yelling? I recognize it.”</p><p>Levi shook his head. Took in three deep, steady breaths. When he didn’t move, it was better — it eased something. Made his head stop imploding by five percent, at least. “What do you have on you? A knife? Gun?”</p><p>“Nothing,” whimpered Farlan.</p><p>“Fucking hell.”</p><p>“Levi!” And he gasped. “Don’t stand! Not just yet. You’re still —”</p><p>“Farlan, listen. You’ll wait in the square’s adjacent alleyway…” And he stumbled where he stood. “When there are less of those bastards around her, go in for the kill and grab her, got it? I trust you. I’ve seen you fight. I’ll drag those other fuckers away from the other side.”</p><p>“Look at yourself! I don’t think you can… They’ll all go after you, and…”</p><p>“Stop talking. Go.”</p><p>And Farlan’s heels hit the pavement. He rounded the corner and disappeared. Levi steadied himself. Shook out his head (didn’t help) and went down the opposite direction, his vision sparking. He situated himself in another alleyway, this one emptying out into the square. Merchants and peasants clogged the roadway like blood within a vessel, desperate to escape the mass of military police that hogged the center market.</p><p>And blended in with this mess, Levi could see them in their posh, clean uniforms. Their coats. Their slicked back hair. One big, blonde fucker in the middle, standing straight enough to look like some army general. He pointed subordinates in various directions, spreading them through throngs of people and side-streets.</p><p>Isabella was among them, her arms behind her back. Her small body flailing to break free from an officer’s grip. What were they looking for? A deal? An exchange for information, or a specific arrest? Having her out in the open had to mean there was a plan. They were looking for something. They were —</p><p>When the gun fired — that single roar — Levi had been sure it was his migraine rattling every nerve in his body. But then came another. Another. A rally. One. Two. Three. Pause. One. Two. Three.</p><p>Two officers fell. A third. A civilian. Another bystander. </p><p>And in came more gunshots. </p><p>Bang.</p><p>Bang.</p><p>Bang.</p><p>A civilian… An officer… Another officer fell. Everyone was running; the slick, blonde man pressed himself thin against a wall, steadied his gun toward the rooftops, searching for the assailant with a steady-armed calm. An officer beside him, the one clutching Isabella, shrieked and gasped. He let go of her. Clutched his stomach. Fell.</p><p>And Levi was running; when his feet moved on their own, he wasn’t sure. But he was running, plummeting through the hurrying crowd and toward that blonde bastard and Isabella.</p><p>And he was close. So close. He could throw himself at her. Drag her out. Fuck this withdrawl, he figured. Fuck this migrane. Fuck this blonde bastard beside her and whomever was shooting their bullets. An arm’s length away, Isabella catches his eyes. She moves a leg forward, yells out Levi’s name—</p><p>And the bullet dashed straight through her head.</p><p> </p><p>Levi couldn’t remember how his hands had ended up around the blonde bastard’s neck. How he had toppled the fucker; how he had managed to pin him down. How, in the hailstorm of bullets, not a single one had nicked them in the flesh.</p><p>But when the black fog of his vision cleared, the blonde bastard was beneath him. Dying. Struggling. Levi’s fingers had left indents — big, red splotches. The skin around his own hands were white, white, white from pressure; from squeezing, from pushing all his weight to try and break and collapse the trachea.</p><p>He wanted to snap this man’s neck. He wanted to bleed him out from the stump of his throat.</p><p>He kept thinking:</p><p>Isabella’s dead. Isabella’s dead. Isabella’s dead.</p><p>From the rooftops, the gun was still firing. <em> Bang </em>.</p><p>There had to be a puddle of blood where she had fallen. There had to be brain matter splattered against the cobblestone. There had to be brain matter on Levi’s own clothing. He was so close to her, how could she not be splattered on his clothes.</p><p>And suddenly the fire in his skull burst again. Vertigo. His limbs shook. The pain that had become almost docile in the panic now raged. His grip loosened, just barely, and the big commander moved. An arm raised. A leg abducted. He found footing. Moved. Shifted his weight and threw it against Levi, knocking him sideways and onto the ground.</p><p>And another hit followed. This one quick, coming from a different direction. A woman, throwing her weight onto him, the shine of her brown hair and the gleam on her goggles passing the peripherals of Levi’s vision.</p><p>The bullets had calmed, the rounds having likely run out.</p><p>Levi kicked against this woman, half-blind in his popping vision. He managed upward, elbowing her jaw as he stood. Yet, she tore him down, coming behind him to kick behind the knees. She shoved his face against a pink-toned puddle, that tang of dirt and blood seeping past his lips.</p><p>And closer came another officer. Big nosed. Tall. Handcuffs in his left hand jostling as he ran. They clicked around Levi’s wrists, biting into skin. And still Levi pushed. Kicked. Slid away in a roll and managed to down the woman before the big-nosed bastard got him by the other end, forcing Levi’s knees to crack against the stone once more, before the woman’s back up, a hand dashing beneath a fold of her coat.</p><p>She hurried out a handgun, short and silver. Her fingers yanked the back of Levi’s skull, fisting into hair, cocking his head back to expose his neck before she rammed the gun between his teeth. It hit the roof of his mouth. He stomached a gag, his tongue thick and heavy with saliva. Eyes watering. His head spun, his vision spun, his body, his head, his everything ached and screamed.</p><p>Just shoot, already, he thought. Just shoot. </p><p>And the blonde bastard watched. Not a mar upon his features. Only the bright splotches of red around his throat.</p><p> </p><p>Levi’s chapped hands ring out bleach from a towel. He’s situated over a bucket, directly beside Eren. </p><p>And his face is feeling warm. </p><p>He ignores the feeling — ignores the feeling of his heart thumping in his stomach. He feels weird. Electric. Chest tight. </p><p><em> Fucking hell </em>. </p><p>Eren’s on his hands and knees, a kerchief around his mouth. A kerchief in his hair. Leaning forward on his elbows to dig out dust from beneath the stove. He’s got all of his right arm and half of a shoulder crammed beneath the thin space between floor and metal. He huffs against the air. Leans all the more forward, tilting his lower back and ass higher. His chest and face press further against the floor. In the movement, his white kerchief slips below his nose. </p><p>“Fuck,” he says, turning his head to face Levi, cheek still pressed against the ground. “I can barely reach the back.”</p><p>“You look ridiculous.”</p><p>An understatement. Maybe, the wrong word totally. </p><p>“Thanks,” says Eren. “I figured.” He pulls out. Hands the dirt-grey towel to Levi in exchange for the clean one. Resituates himself back into position. </p><p>And Levi continues to ignore every thought. </p><p>They work through the kitchen. The living room. The washroom. In the doorway of Levi’s own room, Eren pauses. His face pulls tight. </p><p>“It’s okay if I clean in here with you?”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I don’t know… It’s your stuff.”</p><p>“It’s my apartment. Everything is ‘my stuff.’”</p><p>“I know. But, I mean, it’s your bedroom.”</p><p>Levi shakes his head. Pulls down his white kerchief. “Just clean, Eren.”</p><p>Levi’s heard of people who go from nothing to everything. How a lack of stability in the past leads to a hoarding complex in the future. It creates mess, and Levi’s so damn sick of mess. He’s had enough of it for a lifetime; had wasted away in his childhood among those covered in blood, dirt, and feces; those who died in their gutters with their flesh peeling from their faces. He had eaten stale and moldy food — tasted that sour tang and wet touch of rot in each desperate bite. </p><p>He’s a neat freak. He knows it. He wouldn’t call it a nervous disorder. But he noticed, when he cleaned, he was trying to escape from something. </p><p>Well, that, and he just simply liked having things in order.</p><p>Eren’s a third drawer deep into Levi’s side cabinet. He trails a wet cloth along the edges and pulls out booklets and files to sort through later. He shines and polishes, turning  to the items he had spread along the paneling once he’s finished. Taxes. Census. An apartment lease. He sorts them into envelopes. Pauses when he holds Levi’s passport in his hand. </p><p>“Your birthday’s December 25th,” says Eren. His voice sounds airy. Amazed. “You’re thirty-three.” </p><p>Eren glances up. Meets Levi’s eyes from across the room. </p><p>And Levi shrugs, noncommittal. He continues his work on the dresser mirror. “It’s an almost random date,” he mutters. ”December twenty-fifth was the day I went to finish that citizenship paperwork. For the upper surface. So, I just picked that day.” The mirror squeals as he wipes it down. “And the year I just guessed.”</p><p>Eren’s still clutching the passport. He brings it closer to his own chest. Levi watches him through the mirror. </p><p>“You don’t,” he ventures, “Know when you were born?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Your mom never told you? Or, she was never around to tell you.”</p><p>And the kid’s almost smart. Levi sets down his spray bottle and tosses aside his rag. “She wasn’t around later, no. And if she told me when I was a kid…” He comes to sit where Eren kneels in the corner of the bedroom. He takes the passport with gentle fingers and glances at the laminated page within. “If she told me when I was a kid, I’ve forgotten.”</p><p>Eren stares at the page alongside him — looks at the grey and white photo of Levi’s face in the center. The false date of birth. The city of registration. </p><p>“Was she kind?” whispers Eren. </p><p>Levi stares at his own image; wants to see his mother in the cheekbones and angles. He doesn’t remember her face so well — not her living face. Her hair was dark, he knows that. What color were her eyes? </p><p>“She was kind.” And Levi pauses. For the first time, it feels like a simple answer isn’t enough. She was more than that. She was not just kind, she had—</p><p>“She starved to death, and I lived because of it.”</p><p>Eren goes quiet. But, Levi hears the stutter in his breath. Catches the wide look of his eyes as they turn up toward him. </p><p>And his voice cracks when he asks, “Why?”</p><p>“A client got her sick.” Rashes and chancres along her body — open, oozing wounds that almost looked like tiny bullet holes. “She couldn’t work. Whatever food she had, she gave to me.”</p><p>“And… your dad?”</p><p>Levi sets his passport aside. “My mother was a prostitute.” And, it’s said so easily,  in just a little sigh. He stands and pats the front of his thighs for dust. He’s feigning every bit of nonchalance, but this is the first time he’s ever put his past to words. “Whoever I’m related to, your guess is as good as mine.”</p><p>“Detective Levi.”</p><p>And Eren’s risen from the ground. He’s so expressive, this brat; his brows and eyes tilted, his mouth open in a silent, tiny gape. There is little space to cross. Two steps, and Eren’s there; his arms fold around Levi’s shoulders. His body presses tight.</p><p>An embrace. </p><p>And with what has begun to feel like all things with Eren, it takes a moment for Levi to react. His arms hang loosely at his sides. A small breath is pushed out from his lungs. Half of his face is obscured by Eren’s right shoulder and the boy smells like soap and bleach. </p><p>He can feel Eren’s heartbeat, and it’s a weird, weird feeling. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Eren’s muttering. He dips his face low. When he blinks, Levi can feel the touch of Eren’s eyelashes against his temple. </p><p>And Levi wants to chide. Wants to brush him off. Bite cruel words and pull away. </p><p>But he doesn’t. </p><p>He doesn’t. </p><p>And Eren holds him all the harder. Hot breath in Levi’s ear. And Levi realizes that he’s never had… an embrace like this, really. Or, not one that had been given <em> to him </em>. Nothing that so desperately sought to be... comforting? Kind? Levi narrows his brows. Wonders: is it pitiful to be held like a child? Does he like it? He’s not sure. </p><p>He gives a tentative pat against Eren’s shoulder blade and pulls out from the embrace. “It’s alright,” he says, simply. “Don’t get mushy over it. I haven’t. Let's drop the subject.”</p><p>But Eren’s still got that same expression. He leans against the dresser. Folds his hands in front of himself. </p><p>“How old were you? When she died? Or… how old do you think you were?”</p><p>“Honestly?” And Levi cranes his eyes upward in thought. “Likely the age you were. Eight or nine. Maybe younger. I wouldn’t know.”</p><p>Eren’s expression flinches. “Detective Levi, can I tell you the truth about something? About my mom?”</p><p>“If you’re comfortable with it.”</p><p>Eren nods. His eyes are on the floor. Lost in a memory. </p><p>“I told you,” he begins, and his voice is oddly steady. “About how she died. My dad grabbed her and she fell. She must have… broken her neck when she fell.” He shakes his head. “But. She didn’t die from that. That’s not what killed her.”</p><p>Levi nods. “I remember. You believe your father, or your half-brother, stabbed her. What was it? To put her out of her misery, or out of some bitterness?”</p><p>Eren pauses. He shifts his legs. “Um,” he breathes. “Can I sit on the bed? The sheets haven’t been changed yet…”</p><p>“Whatever you need, Eren.”</p><p>And he does. </p><p>And Levi catches something: a change in Eren’s eyes. A wince. A flicker. A brow that casts upward before his face smoothes into a blank unreadability. It takes a moment before he says, “What reason did the court believe, for why she ran to the phone? The reason why my dad grabbed her?”</p><p>“We surmised she was reporting a drug deal. That’s why your father reacted. You corroborated that story.”</p><p>“No,” breathes Eren. ”That wasn’t it.” And he slouches forward. Rubs his hands against his face. “Where is that serum?”</p><p>“What serum?”</p><p>“The liquid… in the glass vial.”</p><p>“That weird Nepenthe concoction?”</p><p>Eren tilts his head. “Yeah. That.”</p><p>“Within the Capital Archives. Why?”</p><p>“I’m wondering, that’s all. It’s because of that stuff my mom tried to call the police.”</p><p>“So as we said: a drug deal.”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. He’s looking tired. “My dad was going to die in a year. He told me that. He wasn’t sick, but he was going to die. And that day, he suggested we inject that vial into my arm.”</p><p><em> What </em>?</p><p>Levi twists a brow. His stomach feels like it’s plummeted. “How the fuck does that correlate?”</p><p>Eren bypasses the question. “I think my mom couldn’t take it anymore, ‘cause once my dad said that, she ran. Because I was the one who was going to be hurt—“</p><p>“Eren, how the fuck does what you just said correlate?”</p><p>Eren looks up at him, and it hits Levi like a slap: he’s seen that same face so many times before — that little child with the tight expression and the wandering eyes. It’s so obviously familiar. And so, it is so obviously a lie when Eren says:</p><p>“It doesn’t.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On this weeks episode of “Nepenthe Abridged:” tragic backstory unlocked!</p><p>To my reviewers, thank you for giving me joy in a joyless year!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Minor spoilers for Attack on Titan season 4/current manga arc... Nothing of great or obvious substance, but some minor comments and locations are explored that are otherwise not yet touched upon in the anime.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In his dream, he’s beating Eren bloody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Levi takes a step back, his boot touches slick, stone floor. There’s a tooth, and it flies, coming clean from Eren’s mouth. It skitters against the slabbing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Click-clicking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as it bounces; sounding like the tinkering of glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he goes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s driven a knee into Eren’s nose. There’s blood. A gasp; he can feel Eren’s entire body moving in heavy pants when Levi crunches his head beneath his heel. There’s blood everywhere — stained on the front of Eren’s shirt, dribbling down his nose. Levi’s white pants (</span>
  <em>
    <span>there are leather straps around his thighs?</span>
  </em>
  <span>) blotted red along his right knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as if pulled from his ten-year old memory, Zackly watches from high upon his pulpit. In this dream, the courtroom is the same — echoing, large; crowds gather in the peripheral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi grabs for Eren’s hair. Leans down and pulls his face extremely close. He can feel the breath from the boy’s open mouth; can see the green eyes threatening to roll back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi drops him. Kicks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he wakes up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another cigarette. Another long morning. Levi leans his shoulder out from the window. He’s pulled the kitchen table close, pressing it flush against the wall and beneath the billowing, cold air. Tea won’t do; he’s slept horribly. Coffee stains a dark ring in his white mug. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Eren in the washroom — the hiss of a faucet going off. Over the span of weeks, there’s been an obvious routine to his mornings, which serves odd for a boy who so utterly lacks discipline in all other areas. He’s apt to wake up around six; he pisses, brushes his teeth. Comes into the kitchen with his hair still awry. Sometimes, if Levi is at the table smoking or working, he’ll fold his arms over the tabletop and rest his head with yawn. He’ll always cook breakfast — it was never asked for, or discussed. But Eren’s good enough at it, even if he treads lightly on the spices. What’s better, he cleans up afterwards; scrubs down the countertops and stove before he bathes and dresses for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously gone is the little boy who had made a fuss over brushing his teeth. Or, groaned and moaned in the mornings when Levi had to pull him out from bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s on his third cigarette when Eren comes into the kitchen. He rubs a hand over an eye and smiles in Levi’s direction before coming to sit at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made coffee,” Levi mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have some in a bit.” He shivers when a small gust of air comes in through the open window. “God, it’s cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I’ll shut it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Levi’s already dashed out his cigarette and leaned over to push the window closed. He waves a hand over the stream of smoke coming from the dying cigarette in its ashtray. “Fucking hate these things,” he says, knowing his own hypocrisy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never had one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start. They stink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’d you start smoking them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren leans forward. Rests his head on his left arm. “That doesn’t sound like you. Usually you’re more deliberate with things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts. “It takes off the edge. It was helpful for a time, then it became a habit, like all things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s skin is un-marred. Soft-looking and tanned despite the deep winter. His nose is set in the right place. All his teeth are present. His eyes are tired but they’re focussed, watching the last, wispy bits of smoke curl and coil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, fuck, thinks Levi. What a realistic dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s still staring at the smoke when he says, “Do I have something on my face?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Levi. “I was just thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Can I ask about what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A dream I had.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren’s eyes jolt upward, settling on Levi’s. “A dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You ever had one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sarcasm grants Eren a small smile. He shakes his head against his arm. “Was it a bad dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it was a good dream. I was kicking the shit out of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah-ha, very funny.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi smirks. But, “No,” he corrects. “You were in it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, so automatic ‘good dream,’ then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get cocky.” And Levi leans forward to flick the tip of Eren’s nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren smiles; big and bright green eyes looking warm in the winter sunlight that eke in through the window panes. For a moment, Levi wishes he had thought to tune the radio — can imagine how well-fit the lofty the keys of a piano would be at such a pleasant moment like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hasn’t been bad, having Eren around. It’s an odd thing to admit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But really, though,” Eren continues. “Tell me in detail, if you don’t mind. I wanna know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi leans back. “I wasn’t lying. I was beating the shit out of you. I wouldn’t classify it as a good dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a pole, or whatever, that you were kneeling in front of…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the courthouse.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi blinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...In the courthouse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren nods. “I’ve had that same dream. Judge Zackly is there... Mikasa. Armin. Commander Erwin... You kick my tooth out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, it feels like all the air in Levi’s chest has dissipated in his shocked exhale. He says, breathless:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” says Eren. “Sorry, I thought—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. That was it. That was my dream. You just said it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren nods. “I’ve had that one, once or twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would we dream the same thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why did he mash out that cigarette? His nerves are </span>
  <em>
    <span>crawling</span>
  </em>
  <span> beneath his skin; every ingrained instinct feeling utter dread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that uncommon, right?” Eren shrugs. “Mikasa and I would have similar dreams a lot…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Levi, bluntly. “That’s not fucking common. It’s not fucking possible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else have you dreamed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. “I don’t keep a goddamn dream journal—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, I mean, ones that really stood out. The ones that kinda stick with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Green eyes, green cape, green trees, pale monsters; he’s pulling Eren out from the steaming ground</span>
  </em>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember,” Levi lies. His heart is thumping in his ears. Head blaring warning signs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh," and Eren tries a smile, but there’s a clear disappointment. “Okay, well, never mind. I guess I’ll make breakfast, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just like that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the brat steps away, as if this great spectacle of pseudoscience had not just shaken Levi to his core. Eren cracks the kitchen cabinets open and Levi leans over in great haste to throw open the window again. Cold air hits his face, and it’s almost a welcome relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got the mail this morning,” Eren muses from the kitchen counter. His fingers slip through envelopes. “This one must be the month’s ration book. Can I open it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s eyes are closed. His head is pounding. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of tearing paper. A thumb flipping through a little booklet. Eren hisses air through his teeth. “Fucking stupid,” he mutters. “Per week: six ounces of cheese and butter. Ten ounces of sugar. Four ounces of loose leaf tea — how do you live with that, detective? You drink more than that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I trade stamps with Hange.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you trade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The prime meat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay. Four ounces of pork, I see it here.” Eren flips another thick page of stamps in the booklet. “This is so fucking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid,” he says. There’s venom in his voice. “If other countries would just </span>
  <em>
    <span>trade </span>
  </em>
  <span>with us, we wouldn’t have to fucking ration. People wouldn’t goddamn starve. We have the materials to trade. A lot of it. But still, we fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>put up with this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop yelling. I have a headache.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s ridiculous!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit it’s ridiculous, you dumb brat. Stop yelling or else I’ll actually knock your tooth out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren slams down the booklet and throws a pan onto the fire. He’s halfway done with breakfast (rolled oats in salted water) when he’s calm enough to say:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I first met Zeke... My bastard half-brother, remember? He tried to convince me that it’s our fault the world hates us. That Eldians did something wrong and we needed to make up for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure that didn’t sit well with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren shakes his head. “Now that I’m older,” he says, and his voice sounds rough. “And now that I’ve learned more, I realize: it's the greatest lie I've ever heard about this world.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s snowing; the powder sticks to Eren’s lashes and brows. Levi’s got his own scarf pulled above his nose. It’s a bit harder now than it used to be: pedaling two adults on an old bike through slush and slick streets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can pedal next time,” says Eren, stepping off from the back of the bicycle. A centimeter of snow crunches from beneath his boot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts. The idea of Eren at the handlebars and Levi hanging on behind him is so peculiar a thought. He chains his bike to its stand and pulls his yellow scarf below his mouth. White vapor passes from his lips to air as he breathes a sigh and shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Whatever. Try it on our way back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the precinct, Eren’s eyes float around the ceilings, the walls, the floors; the faces and the desks. His cheeks are stained pink, having come from the freezing outdoors into the warm, inner hearth of the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s changed,” he says. “Everything looks like how I remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange waits at the top of the staircase, her hands digging into her hips. She’s got that wide, feral grin that hikes up the corners of her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve grown handsome,” she says to Eren. She wraps her arms around his shoulders. Marvels at his height and the angles of his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man,” she says, “And to think that Levi’s been hiding you away for the past month…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch it,” Levi grumbles. “Onboarding takes longer than your attention span. This isn’t a ‘Moblit situation.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh,” winks Hange. “I struck a nerve. Eren, listen, Erwin is waiting for you in his office. Do you remember where that is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, off you go. Welcome to the team. Glad to have you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his own office, Levi closes the door behind him. Hange’s leaning against his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fascinated by weird things,” says Levi, pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hange cocks a smirk. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? I’ll take it, if it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you know about dreams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dreams?” She purses her lips. Draws out a long ’</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one really has a proven reason for them,” she says. “I mean, there are theories. Like, it’s the brain trying to process information. Or, if you talk to the non-scientifically minded, they can be kinda supernatural.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can people have the same dream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, if they’re both exposed to the same stimulus while awake, I don’t see why not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, to even the smallest details?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that depends on the stimulus and situation, but it would be each person’s individually created dream. You can’t jointly share one dream, as it comes from two different brains. Unless, I don’t know, our entire idea of what the brain is, is totally wrong—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, we think of it as an organ that creates its own thoughts and actions, but I suppose if the brain is more like the ear… Well, in that it would be filtering and processing for us something that exists unseen in the real world, like sound.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, maybe in that way, dreams and thoughts and personalities are just wavelengths that float around, like sound waves, and our brain just translates that—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a knock at the door and Levi’s relieved to swing it open, cutting Hange off completely from her thoughts and theorizations. Eren smiles awkwardly from the other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says. “Am I interrupting?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite the opposite,” says Levi. “What is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Commander Erwin asked to speak to both of us. Together.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a showmanship to Erwin that Levi could never mimic. He paces the room with purpose, his hand settling on Eren’s shoulder whenever he passes, and Eren’s drawn to it like a moth to flame. Enraptured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I was telling you earlier, Eren, we assign all new recruits to a seasoned detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of the room, Levi snorts. “Wonder who that’ll be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin continues. “There’s something else,” and he settles himself at his desk. Crosses his arms over his broad chest and nods toward Levi. “Something new that I want you both to look into. Make it your priority case. I’ve tackled it before — Levi, you’ll remember — but I was never able to get to the root of it. No one has.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi knows before Erwin even speaks it:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nepenthe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren’s posture goes rigid. His shoulders flinch and stiffen. If Erwin had noticed the reaction, he gives no indication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have intel that it’s supplied to us via international channels,” he says. “But from there, our information goes dry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands work through a stack of paperwork he pulls out from a desk drawer. From a large, red envelope, he pulls out two small booklets. “For this reason, I procured something for you both: exit visas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren breathes a sharp intake of air. He says, in a gasp, “To go where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin smirks. He hands both visas to Eren, who cracks them open with enthusiasm. “Marley. But, if you find the answer should take you elsewhere, I’ll pull the strings to get you there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how did you manage this?” Levi asks. His heart is pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I be honest?” and Erwin’s eyes are shining; he lifts a brow. “Not through legal means.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi passes behind Eren. Reaches around the boy’s shoulder to take a booklet from his hands. “These are fake,” says Levi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re beautiful duplicates,” corrects Erwin. “Good enough to get you through. I only ask you don’t be obvious when using them.” He turns his attention toward Eren. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have faith in you assisting Levi with this case,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll agree with me, Eren, that this is far more than a simple narcotics case.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week on 'Nepenthe Abridged:' local boy with anger issues granted entry into source of anger issues. </p><p>Apologies for the short nature of this chapter! It will be made up for in the next chapter. ;) Honestly, thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for making this story feel like more than a story to me. Reading your interactions and thoughts and knowing that I have a little base of people who are enjoying this adventure with me is the best feeling an author could ever have!</p><p>See you next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Big apologies for getting this chapter out a few hours late!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was raining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were special clothes for rain — sheets made of rubber that were wrapped around the shoulders. And, boots of this same material, so clean-looking they’d reflect the light. He had seen a little woman wearing them (bright yellow) as they had shoved Levi into the black automobile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Despite the nausea, despite the agony, he had kicked and fought and wailed as they hauled him from the underground onto the surface. He gave in only when his body began to collapse — his vision going black around the edges; his tongue feeling as thick as tar).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were words for rain: drizzle, downpour, sprinkle. Of course Levi had heard them before — had even seen rain on secret crossings to the surface for cargo pickup — but there was an entire culture around this rain that he had never known… around this mind-boggling wet that fell from the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, the prison guards were talking about the “downpour;” the depth of the puddles, the dampness that stuck to their uniforms. “I’d take being down in here,” said a guard of the prison, “Over being outside in that damn rain any day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bastards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no hunger. Two days worth of food had been shoved into his cell, when he had been in captivity for three. They untied the cords from his wrists on only two occasions: to eat and to piss. Nothing more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t eat, but he could stomach small sips of water. The bread (hard enough to chip teeth) grew all the more stale in the corner of the stone cell and an odd oil rose to the surface as the soup sat out. Sleeping was difficult, but better than in childhood. Here, at least, was a cot with a single canvas sheet to suspend the body, spread out on a wooden frame. The trouble came with positioning — his shoulders were aching from the constant stain of his wrists behind his back. But sometimes, some nights, he was sick and exhausted enough to fall asleep regardless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought of Isabel. For three days he had existed, coated in her blood and brain matter, having been refused a wet bucket to clean himself with on multiple occasions. His skin prickled constantly; his stomach swooped at random increments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was miserable. Fucking miserable. A half-broken man rotting away on a stone floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had overheard the guards talking — that’s all they do all day — about the bodies from “the underground incident” being thrown onto a cart and taken to a morgue. None existed in the underground — holding houses with ice and dedicated refrigeration were the only (cramped, overpopulated) places for a carcass until an undertaker would bring them to the surface to be burned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for this, there was a saying:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Death brings you to the surface.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the blonde bastard arrived, Levi’s cross-legged on the floor, leaning at the waist to rest the side of his head against the wall. This fucking asshole, this fucking cuck; he strolled into the cell with his brows pulled back with worry. Took a look at the pile of food in the corner, and at the sight of Levi’s face, his expression visibly flinched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He first thing he said: “I am told you’re not eating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was too tired to roll his eyes: “I’m not hungry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi hated the way he stared at him. And when the blonde bastard ventured closer, going as far as to sit on the ground across from Levi, Levi visibly sneered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We weren’t formally acquainted,” said the man once he’s settled in. “I’m Erwin Smith, commander of the Shiganshina investigations department—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew your name already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m aware that you are Levi Ackerman, correct?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi blinked at him, languid and slow. It was enough of a response for Erwin to continue:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s talk about what happened, and then I’d like to talk about what I would like from you. That girl who died—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isabel.” Her name stung on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isabel,” Erwin repeated. “A comrade of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s still all over him, matted in his hair and on his clothes. “Like a sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. I’m sorry what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Levi hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin shook his head. “Listen to me. The illegality of firearms is strict on the surface. Our department, as well as any police force, is not supplied with guns. Only under special—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That bitch of yours </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep throated me</span>
  </em>
  <span> with her pistol—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only under special circumstances,” Erwin continued, unfazed, “Are certain officers in the upper ranks allowed to carry firearms. Within the department that arrested you and your friend, only three guns were present: on myself, on Detective Hange, whom you met, and on Detective Zacharius, who was also there with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin unfolded his hands in his lap, showing his open palms. “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I do promise you: if there are other ways I can convince you of this truth, I will do it without question. The main point I’m trying to make here, in all of this, though, is that the loss that you suffered was not done by my department’s hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that sentence bred a sick, deep coil of anxiety within Levi’s very soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove it to me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Erwin promised. “But before that, may I speak more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorted. “Do what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” What polite fucker. “I’m trying to get to the middle of something, and I’m in need of your expertise in the subject matter. You run one of, if not the largest, Nepenthe empires within the underground market.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(No use feigning innocence at this point, Levi settled).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you get your supply? What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorted. “You’re a fucking idiot if you think I’m going to just tell you outright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin nodded. “Yes. That I understand. So, I’ll save the details of my questions for when I gain more of your trust, but it’s truly out of pure curiosity I need to know: what is Nepenthe and where does it come from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi had asked himself the same question a thousand times as he brought the damn powder through his nose— when he had leaned over the table with his nose dripping red, counting down the minutes until he could snort another hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin’s face softened in dejection. “I see. But from where you get it? Clearly, the source must know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cargo ships that passed in the night, carrying goods and trades from across the channel. There were men in the ranks who managed the incoming of goods, who worked not only for Kenny, but for other gangs as well. They were military members, but lured in by the scope of money and the free hit of the next drug. For how this blackmarket trade began: no one knew. The invitation for this cross-job had begun like a chain: one border agent offering the job to another, and to another, and another. Who had organized the drug shipment had gotten lost in the process. The agents only knew: the boxes with the red stickers went to specific groups, and the money in turn was good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, apparently, so good, they were prime at keeping this a secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not in charge of getting it,” said Levi. “I just deal with the negotiations with other gangs and buyers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So who is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenny. Kenny, who had maybe—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to tell you that,” Levi concluded. But, that pit’s back in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Erwin sighed. He pushed a hand against the ground to push himself to standing. “I’m going to place the orders to release you. You’re not an animal in a cage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Levi’s jaw goes slack.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a circumstance to this offer, though,” continued Erwin. “Take the day to consider it. I’ll have your hands untied now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erwin stares at him intently. The square line of his jaw tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to make you a detective in this case.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eren asks, “Do you still see me as a kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his lap, Levi’s unfolding a uniform from its brown paper wrapping. Over the short distance between them, he hands it to Eren: a green coat in a size medium for the spring and winter, and a lighter jacket for the summer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the standard uniform of the department, worn only when the authority of the role is meant to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cold still, despite being deep into the spring. They spend most mornings on their haunches in front of the living room furnace, sopping up as much heat as possible. Tea and coffee between their cold hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five months have passed. Eren’s hair has gotten longer. His shoulders more squared. Maybe the medium-sized coat won’t fit him, Levi figures. He side-eyes the curve of Eren’s leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you still see me as a kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you act like a kid, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could say that about anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been five months of paperwork; five months of Levi wrapping up his prior cases with Eren constantly at his heel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shocks him, honestly, to admit he hasn’t gotten sick of the brat. Sharing office space… sharing an apartment. It’s a concoction for a disaster that has not yet imploded on them both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vaguely, Levi wonders why, but never takes the time to ruminate on it. He doesn’t want the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You saw Armin and Mikasa last night, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren nods his head. “They got jobs. They start in two weeks,” he confirms. “Both in the capital. They’ll start Mikasa as an agent, and Armin as a researcher, and I guess what he’s doing has something to do with law and police archives, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cream of the crop,” says Levi, dully. “Those aren’t typical starting positions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren nods. His face is turning pink — maybe from the heat of the furnace. “Um, you saw Commander Erwin last night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi nods. He takes a sip from his cup. “To go over this ‘nepenthe’ bullshit, yeah. If we’re getting shipped out in a month, I want to make sure we won’t be thrown into a fucking prison for bullshit visas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to talk about that over wine like you guys did, that sounds nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He keeps going on about this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sounding jealous. You want Erwin to yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, sir. Not at all, sir!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren, listen,” and Levi sighs as he sits on his ass and extends his legs. “What I was telling Erwin: if we go over to Marley now, I wouldn’t even know where to start. I think we’ll begin with prior connections I had in the underground, and work backwards through the trade line.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s a good idea. And I’ll, um, be happy to be doing something other than your paperwork…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to ask you something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi takes in the red flush on Eren’s cheeks. The square line his jaw has angled into. A dark line of hair from his head against the edge of his eyelashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “How good are you at acting like a thug?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like I have the greatest readers and commenters in the world. Thank you so much for everything and as a little “thank you,” please enjoy this one-shot that takes place around this chapter. It is Explicit in rating, so please be aware of this before reading.</p><p>Eventually, there will be explicit content in the main story as well, but as this little fic is told from another point of view, I figured to submit it as a stand-alone piece.</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813354">I hope you enjoy! Find the one-shot here.</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a burn and an aftertaste before the euphoria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You get used to it, eventually — come to like the bit of pain in the sinuses when you snort it. As it slides to the back of your throat, the taste is something bitter. Not chemical. Not synthesized. It stings the start of the tongue like black, burnt tea leaves. You come to like that, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then: euphoria. It begins at the base of your spine and dings up each vertebrae, lighting them up like the lightbulbs on a fairground game, until it’s hit your skull and blooms open all warm like a flower. And, suddenly, that lack of sleep you’ve got doesn’t bite you — your exhaustion is nil, your tired eyes see clear. You laugh more. You do more. You’re faster. You’re stronger. You like yourself. You’ve got focus; you can think. That twist in your stomach from hunger stops hurting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Nepenthe. So, if any of them ask you, don’t act like you don’t know shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi lights a cigarette and pulls. The smokey air in his exhale slips past his teeth and open mouth. He waves it away with the sway of a left hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should use a fake name,” he says to Eren. They’re in a small alleyway, shoved in-between brick houses where the windows are all boarded up. Weeds gather in abandoned gardens — the only greenery that has survived the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren asks: “Are you gonna use one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, Levi shakes his head. “It’d be an embarrassing waste of effort. Everyone knows who I am.” He frowns. “It’d be like putting a dress on Erwin and trying to pass him off as Hange.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never seen Detective Hange wear a dress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you understand all the more, how ridiculous it would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s got energy — nerves or impatience, Levi’s not entirely sure. But, his teeth keep nagging at his lower lip; Levi watches them draw the skin pinker and pinker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kruger,” says Eren. “How about that? Eren Kruger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi lifts a brow. “Why keep your first name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh, don’t know.” He pauses. “No, I do. It’s cause I’m kinda worried if we’re in the middle of something, I’ll slip up and make it obvious that I’m using a fake name. I’m sorry if that sounds stupid—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. “Do what works best for you. You gotta squeeze out all the damn comfort you can in this shit. You run a security risk with your first name, but if you think you’re worse off not using it, then fuck it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances down the alleyway. Still empty, apart from them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren bumps his shoulder against Levi’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or, I could be Eren Ackerman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How cute.” Levi rolls his eyes; his tone is monotone in its sarcasm. “So, what is it? Kruger or Ackerman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s our relation if I’m ‘Ackerman?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cousin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll go with Kruger.” Eren crosses his arms and rocks back on his heel. “Unless you wanted to be my wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brat,” he says, tugging a strand of Eren’s hair. And then, in jest, “Let’s go, Eren Ackerman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren shakes his head with a grin. Somewhere at the edge of the alleyway, Levi crushes his cigarette against a building and shoves his hands into his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never been down there, have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not as bad as the stories,” says Levi. “It just depends on where you go. It’s impressive from some vantage points.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, indeed, it is. From the east, upper entrance, the entry point spans out like a plateau, overlooking the city rooftops that shine like gems in a valley. Eren’s obviously impressed; his expression bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s huge, this cave system,” says Eren. He leans his body against the railing. “Like, it’s its own world. I had no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the best view of it,” says Levi. “I wanted you to see this at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re in regular clothing — light coats with no badges or weapons to hide. Levi had foregone Erwin’s offer of a gun — had made a face and said, “You know how I feel about those things,” which worked well in stopping Erwin from offering again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s at his heel, walking close; bumping into Levi whenever they make a sudden turn down a crowded street. His neck snaps back and forth to glance at stalls and houses and gap-toothed girls and beggars dying in deep gutters. Children covered in dirt and scratching lice on their heads dash between the legs of the crowd. It smells like sulfur. It’s warm. The air is thick. The screams of a fistfight clog a passing storefront. Eren steps a bit closer, his breath in Levi’s ear. He smells like this morning’s shower; it’s a relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You grew up in this,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were like these kids running around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a bit more troublesome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi can admit — although he’s not sure when — Eren’s disregard for space had begun to feel normal. Maybe the small apartment had done it. Maybe balancing seventeen hours a day together — from the office, to the field, to home, to cafes, to the random dinner spots where Levi always ended up paying — had made it impossible for barriers to be kept high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a final alleyway between two derelict houses and the sounds of the squatters in their rooms bleed out through the open windows. A prostitute fakes a moan, her shrill noise echoing in the thin alleyspace. Levi catches Eren’s mouth opening to speak, but he closes it just as quick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tiny walkway opens into a wide patch of dirt where trash and broken furniture litter the peripherals of the field. Halfway across this lot, Eren grabs for Levi’s wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After your mom died…” he starts, and his grip is tight; enough to pull Levi from walking. “Where did you go? What did you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I survived, that’s all,</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ sits on the edge of Levi’s tongue — a simple and quick answer to escape further conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, Eren deserves more than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had an uncle,” says Levi. He’s surprised by the apathy in his own voice. “I saw him sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t go live with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi snorts at the thought. “When I was a kid? No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where’d you live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi blinks. Tries slowly, “Does it matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just…” Eren shifts on his feet. He’s still holding onto Levi’s wrist, although his grip has softened. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m imagining you here. And it’s… An awful thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only now that Levi realizes how fast his own heart has been beating. He pulls his wrist away and digs his hands into his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve both been through hard things, Eren.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in a desolate field is not where he had imagined this conversation, but, well, here it is. “I’d give you some speech about it making you a better man, but I don’t believe any of that shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s watching him. Waiting. His questions still unanswered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t really ‘live’ anywhere when I was a kid. I took what I could get, and I didn’t get the option to be picky. Before Erwin and the department, I was a gang leader and drug trafficker. You first got blood on your hands at, what? Eight? Nine? I had bloody hands from then until… Fuck. Until I got to the surface.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. Continues: “You don’t have time to be philosophical about morality when you’re a knife’s edge, or ten calories away from dying. And, the rest of the deaths were my own fuck ups that I’ll need to live with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren. You call yourself a monster. You are. But, I’m saying this as one monster to another. Circumstances breed inhumanity. But, I think we can be better than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all of the vast world — in all of the great population of Eldia both above and underground — it was Eren. This damn, fucking brat whom had suffered similar losses, whom had carved a personality from ash and blood and fire. He was a kid who saw a world beyond the walls, just like Levi had imagined a world that could look up into the stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Eren felt like the only place where Levi could rest his soul into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the realization is frightening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi steps away; pulls his hand from out of his pocket to check the time on his black wristwatch. “We’re late,” he says. But, Eren’s gone quiet; his heels dig into the tan soil, his hand juts out again to grab Levi’s same wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, “Detective Levi,” he says. His voice is sounding raw. He’s not looking at Levi when he speaks. “You’re the only one who has ever liked me for who I am. I know Armin tries. Mikasa tries. But, I think they’re seeing someone else when they look at me. Maybe, as just a dreamer. Or, a savior or something. But, I’ve never been that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there, Eren’s voice breaks. He heaves a heavy sigh. His fingers are pressing bruises in Levi’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And just like how you like me for who I am,” says Eren. “I like you for who you are. Everything about you. Even when,” and Eren gives a small, painful laugh. His eyes are wet. “Even when you piss me off. When you’re so blunt and anal about everything. I like that about you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only an open field in a ruined city. The same open field where Levi had, twelve years ago, thrown himself into the dirt. Where blood had stung the edges of his eyes as he beat and wailed and held a knife to the throat of the very man who had influenced his youth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This field.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in this field again, for the first time in a very, very long time, Levi feels that painful sting of tears brimming behind his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath. Blinks them away. Turns his face away from Eren for just a moment’s composure before he steps back, closer. Eren’s still holding his wrist; doesn’t seem to want to let go. So, Levi lifts his left hand instead and drags the back of it beneath Eren’s eyes. Smearing away fat, wet tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s with a very small smile that Levi says, “You’ve always been a crier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren sniffs. It’s so strange, now, to have to stare up at Eren when once he had been so small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, sir,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. “Don’t be. I appreciate what you said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren nods. Gives a shaky smile. Levi pats his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, then. Time to go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In all of these years, the house has not changed. At the end of the field, it waits like a spectre. Its stone build is always dirtied by soot; the clay roof tiles are still missing or cracked in random spots. The windows are still boarded up, but through the cracks in the wood, light peeks through. It is a singular entity. No other homes surround it. The great lights of the city center barely touch this far off corner, casting long shadows into the further depths of the cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi knocks thrice. Tap, pause, tap-tap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Eren breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, the door opens. Just, barely. A single sliver of space; enough for a voice to flow through the gap:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman’s voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Petra,” says Levi, and Eren jumps at Levi’s sudden familiarity with this situation. “You know who it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another moment passes. Eren’s got this bewildered expression, but asks nothing. Levi stares at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it opens again, swinging wide on its hinges. And before them: strawberry-blonde hair. Amber eyes. She’s gotten thinner from the last time Levi saw her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petra wraps her arms around herself. Her expression is hard. After a long silence she admits:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” her eyes are looking tired. The clothes she wears are too large for her. “After everything, I don’t know what to say to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi nods. Over her shoulder, he can see the guts of the home. That old, yellowed couch. The gaudy floral wallpaper. “I think that’s appropriate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes slide to Eren. Her tense brows dip lower. “Who’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Eren Kruger,” says Eren.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petra’s eyes go back to Levi, questioning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My partner from the department,” Levi confirms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, “Ah,” says Petra. Her face flinches. “We’re finally under arrest, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nose crinkles. Her mouth twitches. “I don’t believe you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to. But, why after twelve years would I come back for a damn arrest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you changed at all? In all this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve switched to cigarettes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs, that first note hitting high. It’s pained in the sound. Petra hides her face behind her hands and shakes out a long sigh afterward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared to let you in,” she says, her face drawn back in worry. “But I will. I’ll take a chance. Because, in all truth,” and there’s a small smile barely touching the edges of her lips. “We’ve missed you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wooden crates; tens of them stacked atop one another in a single, windowless room. It’s nostalgic, almost, to see. Not so much out of longing, but out of familiarity; Levi can remember the weight of a crowbar in his hands as he peeled back the top. The careful packaging of Nepenthe in tin canisters; the feather-light wrapping papers stuffed between every can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Can remember how he’d sort and weigh the Nepenthe with a sense of duty and excitement. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This many kilos to the Forster group. This many kilos to Petra’s gang. This many kilos for personal use.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The group of them — Petra, Eld, Oluo, Gunther — watch tensely from inside the room. Eren stands among them, a few feet of distance, staring up and down the crates with a sense of wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s all Nepenthe?” he says, maybe more to himself than anyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group ignores the comment. Eld — still stocky in his build, still intense in his eyes; still the obvious, straightforward man he always was — speaks first:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here, sir? After everything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can imagine our surprise to see you,” Oluo cuts in. The lines on his face have gotten deeper over the years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. “It’s for your help, honestly.” He turns on his heel, facing them, now, instead of the great stack of narcotics. “I’m going back into the drug running business. Temporarily.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a collective silence. Finally, Petra speaks:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that true, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oluo crosses his arms. “Of course it must be true. The money in this job is too good—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not that,” says Gunther. “It must be something else. Isn’t that right, Mr. Levi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s have tea,” says Levi. “I’d rather talk about it over a table, than in a room of this damn stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kitchen has changed. New wallpaper. There’s a refrigerator now. Although, the busted-up kitchen table with its rickety right leg still remains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's out of habit that Levi prepares the tea. No one mentions the obvious oddity of a man with a twelve-year’s absence making himself at home. It seems that despite the passing of a decade, there are still a few things that stick like natural order, given the proper circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you said your name is Eren,” says Petra. She adjusts in her seat, kicking an ankle behind the other as she leans forward against the table. “And you work with Mr. Levi?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More than that,” says Levi over his shoulder. He pours hot water into six white cups. “The brat lives with me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oulo snorts. “Fuck together as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that,” says Petra. “God, you’re trying to act cool again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no,” says Eren. there’s an obvious awkwardness in his voice. “We haven’t done that. But, um, I’ve known Detective Levi since he worked on my case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ex-felon?” asks Eld.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren looks to Levi; gets the ‘okay’ with a quick nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oluo slams a fist against the table. “For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Petra snaps his name; leans across the table to whack him on the shoulder. “This isn’t an interrogation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murder,” says Eren. “When I was a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” says Gunther. He leans back in his seat. “Your detective’s department really likes to hire prior criminals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi sets the cups in front of each of them before taking a seat beside Eren. He grips his own by the brim of the glass before taking a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough fucking around,” he says. “Let’s talk.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On this episode of 'Nepenthe Abridged:' dirty, creepy city perfect place for romance. </p><p>Thank you all for reading, -- and especially for the comments that give me greater joy than anything else in my entire life -- and I'll see you next week!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>On the fifth day, he was granted a shower. Given soap. Given a bucket. Brought to a long room where a single, small, rectangular window almost touched the ceiling; where rows of shower stalls waited with no doors and no other occupants; stone walls and stone floors, with drains along the diveted center. Under the heat of the water, the blisters around his wrists burned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t mind the sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the night before, he had dreamed a memory: barely a teenager, and Kenny had crept up behind him; smacked his left hand over Levi’s mouth, jerking him backwards against his chest. With the pointed end of his right thumb, Kenny had drawn a line from one edge of Levi’s neck to the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Be good,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he had said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi turned up the heat of the water, cranking the lever as left-ward as possible. He scrubbed his hair until his finernails had left marks against his scalp. His skin was red from friction. The heat and the hiss of water dulled every ache in his brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a voice came into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow-ee, there’s a lot of steam in here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glasses bitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was too tired to feign embarassment. The withdrawls too heavy to give her anything more than a sneer and a sigh. He quirked the shower knob until the water was a dribble, and remained where he stood, naked and soaked but finally, finally clean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He said: “You really have no sense of privacy, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaned her hip against the stall. Her glasses were fogged up; a white mist across each lense until she smeared them against the edge of her shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ve been told that before, I suppose,” she said. She slipped the arms of the glasses back behind her ears. The corners began to fog immediately. “Do you remember me? We met briefly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not apt to forget someone who gags me with a gun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, sorry,” and she gave a chuckle. “I got a bit carried away. But, well, I’m glad we’re on good terms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If not now, I’ll make sure of it later. I’m detective Zoe Hange. I hear we’ll be coworkers once the higher-ups clear you tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shook his head. “On this case only.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Okay. We’ll be coworkers on this case, then.” She eyed his shoulders. Her gaze dipped lower. “You’re really fit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, Erwin asked that I give you a bit of news…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do all meetings go like this? In the goddamn showers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh,” and she shrugged. “Speed favors informality. But, listen, your visa is in processing. Tonight’s the last night you’ll be in here. I think you’ll move in with me after, for a bit. Or, Erwin.” She shakes her head. “Still figuring that one out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, her face went stiff stiff. Her eyes set. Her brows narrowed. She shifts on her feet and crosses her arms — that happy-go-lucky expression long gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s one more thing. Our drug case has a connection with another: a set of murder sprees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi felt his stomach twist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what’s the connection?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A man,” said Hange. “Named Kenny Ackerman.” </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heavy lashes. The green hue -- that stark contrast of this bright tone of the iris against his brows and tanned skin. But, more than that, it’s the focus; the dead-line, center stare that doesn’t waver once it’s fixed. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s gaze is unsettling; Levi knows the others feel it. How their eyes flit between Levi and Eren, like they’re waiting for the boy to pounce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t blame them. They don’t know the kid; he’s a stranger brought in by a man who had disappeared twelve years ago after upending a drug empire. They’re smart to be on their toes. Smart to keep their eyes on Eren as they all finish their tea at the kitchen table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the thing is--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s stare has been boring into Levi for the past ten minutes, and Levi doesn’t mind that stare at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oluo’s been prattling. Maybe it’s the nerves. Despite the passing of a decade, habits have slid back in without acknowledgement; they hide nothing from Levi. There’s no twisting of wrists for information. No cold shoulders or defiance as Levi probes for answers. For years, Levi had been the overseer and supplier of their product. And, he liked them -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>this odd, little group of criminals with their odd quirks and weird habits. Twelve years of separation seemed to affect little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” continues Oluo, and his arms cross above his chest. “The business ain’t as easy as it used to be. That’s why you gotta be willing to make tough deals like I do—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The supplier’s name is Dimo Reeves,” and Petra finally cuts in. “He’s new. Just five years he’s been working as our primary source of nepenthe. Well, not just us, but other dealers you used to supply to. After some fractions split, he took over where you left off, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha,” hums Levi over the rim of his cup. “You know him well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but,” and Petra shakes her head. “I know his son. He’s been a bit…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interested in Petra,” deadpans Eld.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, when he organizes the deliveries to us, he can be quite talkative with me, maybe.” She gives an awkward chuckle. Waves a hand in front of her own face. “But, Dimo and his son live on the surface. I guess they were — and still are — regular merchants for trade between here and Marley. Until they smelled money with nepenthe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until finally, Petra asks with a worried hush:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to arrest him, Mr. Levi? Is that what this is all about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Levi can feel the weight of their every worry on his shoulders; can read the lines in their expressions. Again, they look between him and Eren.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi responds calmly:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, no. Just as I told you: this isn’t some scheme. I’m not arresting you. I’m not arresting Dimo Reeves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eld whispers, “Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… Your job, now. Has been for a while. For years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi shakes his head. “The department doesn’t run on arrest quotas. Its main drive is information, and some blas</span>
  <span>é</span>
  <span> arrests wouldn’t get us any closer to figuring out what the fuck nepenthe is made out of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you’re looking for, then?” asks Gunther. “To just know what it’s made out of?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and from where it’s sourced from. Anyone in the underground given you a hint?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gunther shakes his head. “No one knows. Only some people ask, but that won’t get you anywhere. It all goes down half-finished lines, and no one knows who started it at the top.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No different than before, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another beat of silence. Until Gunther says,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I can speak for all of us, when I say we feel a little bit indebted to you.” He hasn’t touched his cup of tea, but he stares at the tinted water like it holds an answer. “Everyone down here was really worried when they heard you turned sides. It was… mind boggling. And us, especially, having seen it all unfold…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gunther shakes his head. “You really built up an empire. If you were going to topple it, we figured that you’d bring everyone down with you. But you didn’t. You didn’t give us up. We expected you to do that… To show loyalty to your new gig.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi feels his own expression flinch. “I did that already. With Kenny. But,” and his chest is feeling heavy; Levi clicks his jaw. “What went on between me and Kenny goes deeper than nepenthe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They break for cigarettes. Or, Levi does, at least. In the grand dirt field in front of the old house, Levi stares at the rising smoke as it disappears toward the cave’s ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had heard, in deeper areas where the floor of the cave ran deep, that there was enough space for clouds to form. Rain or mist could happen. Plants not needing sunlight could grow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Likely, though, that was a fairytale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoes crunch against dirt, growing louder as they approach -- a quick pace that is distinctly Eren. He bumps Levi’s shoulder when he stops beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look what I got,” he says. He’s got this wide smile. He holds up a cigarette between two fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck did you get that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From Oluo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start that shit. It’s disgusting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, you do it all the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. It’s disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren quirks his face. “I think I’ll try. Just once. Just to know. You have a lighter, right, sir? Can I borrow it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi pulls the lighter from his pocket. Feigns handing it to Eren, before quickly pulling his arm back. “No fucking way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s so mean, Detective!” Eren lunges, his arm jutting outward to try and grab the lighter from Levi’s hand; Levi simply pivots. Eren may be larger, but certainly, he’s less dexterous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s got his unlit cigarette balancing between his lips, giving both of his hands a chance to attempt to grab the item. He leans against Levi; manages to snag a wrist, but a quick jab in the stomach sends Eren stumbling backward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” he says, the cigarette bobs in his mouth as he talks. “No lighter.” And his eyes have that pointed intensity again. He’s staring Levi in the face, pupils going from Levi’s eyes to his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s odd and sudden enough, that Levi doesn’t step back; he knows Eren well -- knows the sudden and brash things the boy is apt to do -- but hadn’t expected… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hadn’t expected Eren to step forward too close. To pinch Levi’s face between a single hand, roughly jerking his face upward, and leaning in with his own. He’s close. Extremely close. The warm breath from his mouth is skirting over Levi’s lips. Eren dips his head. With the hand not holding Levi in place, he guides the tip of his cigarette against Levi’s own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Eren inhales. Smoke lifts out from the corners of his mouth. The bright glow of embers form at the edge of his cigarette, but Levi doesn’t notice. He’s staring at Eren’s dark lashes; how thick and dark and long they look as they rest against the curve of his cheeks. And when Eren looks back up, from his cigarette back to Levi, there’s an odd jolt in Levi’s stomach that feels almost like adrenaline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi steps back. His heart is pounding in his ears. Eren grins at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says, all cheeky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brat,” Levi responds. His voice is even, at least; even if the rest of him feels rather odd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren slides a foot against the dirt. Coughs a bit with the next inhale. “They’re all really nice,” says Eren. “They really… Know you well, don’t they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a supplier and organizer for a lot of groups. Petra’s group I was the most fond of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned that earlier today, that you were in the drug business. But, I hadn’t expected that you were so… What’s the word? Successful? They were saying words like ‘empire.’ That’s crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think less of me for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren shakes his head. “No.” Again, he coughs on his next inhale. Says with a tight throat, “I like knowing these things, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s gaze has returned to the cave’s top; he wonders, vaguely, what exists above them. A family home? A bar? Who is living their life up there, completely unaware of the hell below their feet?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to ask Petra to introduce us to Dimo Reeves. As he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>the</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dimo Reeves of the Reeves Company, we need to play it smart with him. I think he’ll be more likely to believe our lies than our truths.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, okay, sure.” Eren’s staring at his cigarette. Looking pale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve lucked out, maybe. If he was one of the few merchants granted trading rights with Marley before his current stint with nepenthe, it’s likely he knows some connection there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if he doesn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck’s sake, Eren’s looking damn near sick. “If he doesn’t know? Will we still go to Marley?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know--” is all Levi can get out before Eren doubles over and retches on the ground. Levi sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoying that cigarette?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Eren gags. “No, sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t think so. Stay here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Levi trails back into the house. Takes a cloth from the kitchen. Runs it under the water of the sink, and returns next to Eren. The boy’s seated on his ass, rubbing his hands against his eyes, when Levi returns to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” says Levi, squatting down beside him. “Look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one hand beneath Eren’s chin, he wipes his face with the damp cloth. The mess from Eren’s stomach stinks sour nearby, but Levi ignores it for Eren’s sake. He cleans him up and pulls him back onto his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Detective. I’m sorry. Uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happens to almost everyone with their first cigarette. I told you, it’s a disgusting habit. I wouldn’t do it again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take your advice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Plans are made with Petra. She guesses it would take two weeks to warm Dimo up to the idea of speaking with Levi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure he knows who you are,” she says. “Most people do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What approach will you take? He’s not going to trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That the money’s better in the drug business. That I want to become a shady businessman with two personas like he has. I’ll say I want to be a crook with a day job. I’ll say I made a mistake turning my back on the business, but plan to make up for it in full.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s night when fresh air finally hits their lungs; the glow of streetlights line the main road of Shiganshina as they exit the underground. There are fresh stamps in their passports: a sign they were granted the right to leave the cave systems. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi’s staring at his a bit too long. The wet, blue ink has dried on the page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel sick,” says Eren. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From that cigarette, still?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” And, his voice is steady. Deep. “From what I saw down there. People trapped in that hell. And for what? Why can’t they leave? They’re Eldians like the rest of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t know,” Levi sighs. “I’ve asked that question myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eldia’s rotten,” continues Eren. His boots tap against the cobblestone as they walk. “And outside of Eldia is rotten, too. Where’s there to go? Do you think sometimes… It would be better if we just started all over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” says Levi. He closes his passport with a sigh. Shoves it into his coat pocket. “But that’s just dreaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” says Eren. His voice is a hush. “But maybe not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week on 'Nepenthe Abridged:' personal space big issue for Detective's Division. </p><p>Thank you all so much for your reading and attention! I read through your comments CONSTANTLY. I adore you all so greatly, and will be responding to you all; thank you for always, always coming back to enjoy this adventure with me. See you next chapter! Expect things to finally heat up.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A warning: there are some spoilers for what is past season 3 of the anime. I tried to keep the information pertinent to what is revealed in the last few episodes of season 3, but there are some concepts that are more-so explored in what will be in season 4.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Eren begins on the water — on a steaming, creaking boat in the early morning hours when the chill crawls in through every space between fabric and before the sun has begun its rise. With old, folded money (dirtied at their edges) he had paid for a single ticket. He takes that boat into Trost. Keeps his brimmed hat low. Talks to no others until he asks, very quietly, to use a phone at the inn.</p><p>No one hears him. No one thinks a thing. He clicks down the receiver with shaking hands and tries to sleep.</p><p>In the morning, it’s on a train where he feels that first wave of nausea. He bends at the waist and buries his face into his hands; listens to the click and the clack of train wheels on steel and wood. Tries to match his breath to each clacking set. </p><p>He’s panicking, just a little. He had spared no time or effort for food or much sleep — the adrenaline had kept him from feeling anything other than jittery. When he thinks, his knee bounces. When he doesn’t think, he chews at his nails. The feeling of everything is suffocating.</p><p>Soon, there are stamps within his passport — stamps he fears ever having to explain; to look Levi in the eyes and admit:</p><p>
  <em> ‘There is so much I cannot tell you.’ </em>
</p><p>Evening found him in Hermina, behind Wall Rose.</p><p>And in Hermina, Armin found him. Armin, in his crisp, clean uniform all well-starched and pressed. His blue eyes dart around the station platform. He hangs onto his leather shoulder bag with both arms, clutching it around his chest. He won’t make eye contact. He bows his head as they walk. Says to Eren:</p><p>“I don’t know how to feel.”</p><p>“I’m happy to see you, at least,” Eren whispers.</p><p>“I am…” and Armin pauses. He nods his head. His breath catches in his throat. “I am too. But… this is…”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Insane.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I still struggle to believe it,” and Armin’s so quiet, Eren strains to hear him over the sound of their footsteps and the clatter of the train station. </p><p>Armin owns a car; it’s old and rusted. There are no seatbelts and the steering wheel squeals when he turns it.</p><p>Eren keeps Armin’s bag on his lap as they drive through the night. He stares through the passenger window.</p><p>One hour into the dark silence, Eren says:</p><p>“I never learned how to drive.”</p><p>Armin chuckles, and the noise almost sounds like a relief; finally, he must think, a normal conversation — maybe they’re not going collectively insane.</p><p>“It’s not too hard,” says Armin. “It’s kinda fun. Grandpa taught me.”</p><p>“Levi drives.” Eren still faces the window. “I kinda always thought he could teach me. Not that it matters, but… No, it doesn’t matter.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter if you learn how to drive?”</p><p>“Yeah. What does it matter?”</p><p>“Well, it’s a convenient skill.”</p><p>“But when will I use it? Especially after this.”</p><p>“Can we… Can we talk about ‘this?’”</p><p>Eren goes quiet.</p><p>“I… I have to tell you the truth, Eren. I didn’t believe you or Mikasa for all those years. I didn’t. I wanted to. It was all really fantastical, and kinda frightening. But, I chalked it up to trauma. Trauma does that, you know? Trauma can… Create memories that aren’t really there.”</p><p>“Armin—”</p><p>“And then, and then, I did something I shouldn’t have. I went through all of the locked away books in the archives. I stole a key, even. Can you… Can you believe that? That I made a copy of all of the keys and codes for these things?”</p><p>Eren gives a weak chuckle. “I thought you were the good one of us.”</p><p>“No, I’m not. I’m learning that about myself. I’m not a good person, even if I try to be. Even if I always feel guilty after.”</p><p>After a beat of silence— of the car tumbling them about— Eren ventures, “But what did you find?”</p><p>“Apart from the liquid Nepenthe you wanted? Books and papers and ledgers and… and things that should be in museums. I couldn’t believe it.”</p><p>If only he could see through the darkness; Eren was sure Armin’s eyes had to be shining. </p><p>“The language is different,” Armin goes on. “So I couldn’t read it all. I had to translate a lot of it by simple pen and paper and old language books and—”</p><p>He laughs. </p><p>“—And months later, I’m still feeling that cramp in my hand. But, it’s there. A completely different history. I don’t know exactly what it says, and I don’t think I ever will, but a lot of it is not the same. Like, how Eldia was founded, or why there are parts of our walls missing. It’s different. Logically, though, it could just be mythology, like how we actually see stuff like titans and mythology today. I mean, I’d say that people just made things up because they didn’t have science to explain things, right?”</p><p>The car bounds over a small dip in the dirt road. Armin adds: </p><p>“But, then there were pamphlets and posters and dates and it all really read like a history book — well, okay, again, what I could read of it read like a history book. But it just seemed… intelligent. Scientific and historic, almost.”</p><p>“Armin,” Eren interjects with a whisper. He cocks his head against the car’s seat. Breathes out a shaking sigh. “I’m really scared. My hands keep shaking.”</p><p>“Eren—“</p><p>“I don’t believe all this stuff yet. Even though I saw it when I was a kid. I just want it to be a story, sometimes.”</p><p>“Then why…” Armin swallows. “Then why see a titan again?”</p><p>“Because.” And Eren’s voice feels raw. Tired. It breaks at the edges. “Because we deserve the heritage we were promised. We deserve the world we were promised.”</p><p>There are no villages. There are no lights. Dirt roads are scarce — they complete the rest of the way on foot until a round, sparse field breaks the line between the densely packed trees. A campfire has been made. Two figures sit around it. Armin’s bag is secure beneath Eren’s right arm. </p><p>Eren has kept secrets. Eren has told many lies. He has his excuses: Mikasa and Armin’s imposing concerns. Their inability to understand, due to their own personal worries about him.</p><p>(Eren wants to call it selfish, that they would care more for his safety than the entire weight of their people; but Eren knows, deep down, that when he speaks the word of “Eldia,” it is not the millions of the populace for which he cares — “Eldia” is just the grouping of the only people he’s ever loved: Mikasa, Armin… Levi. He is just as selfish. He is just as rotten.)</p><p>From beside the fire, Mikasa stands. She bounds to them and throws her arms around Eren, becoming steady anchors around his neck. She presses her head into his chest. Squeezes tightly, enough to hurt. </p><p>“What are you planning to do? Eren.”</p><p>“Just talk to him.”</p><p>Mikasa pulls her face back, but she still hangs onto him. In the five months that’s passed between them, she looks older in the distant glow of the fire — her hair shorter, her face thinner. She furrows her brows. </p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>“Mikasa,” Armin interjects. He places a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s just try. If all this is true, and Zeke can really turn into a titan like Eren says, then there’s so much we can learn—“</p><p>“You weren’t there, Armin,” Mikasa shoots back. “Zeke is a monster. He shouldn’t be talking to Eren—”</p><p>“Mikasa.” Eren pushes her away. “I’m not a kid. Stop it.” He trudges forward. Comes to stand where the fire roars. Mikasa and Armin trail behind him, hot at his heels. They’re an imposing force, he reminds himself when the guilt again rises; they would never be able to understand. </p><p>Eren stares at the man just beside the small campsite. The orange glow of the flames casting light onto his blonde hair, reflecting in his glasses. </p><p>And without malice or contempt; with just a simple, curious lilt in his voice, Zeke comments:</p><p>“You’ve grown. Finally a bit familiar to me, at least, of the snippets I remember.”</p><p>Eren frowns. “And you’re out of prison.”</p><p>“I am.” Zeke hooks a finger to scratch behind his right ear. “I spent long enough in there. Almost eleven years…Out early for good behavior. Imagine that.”</p><p>“You could have broken out.”</p><p>“It was underground,” and Zeke kicks one leg over the other. “Do you want the truth, Eren? If I were to take fate in my own hands, I should have done it in the courthouse. But, I must have latent memories associated with that Levi, because, for whatever reason, he frightens the hell out of me. The last thing I needed was my titan to spark his memories.” </p><p>He’s looking haggard. His beard long. His hair unkempt. “And even if I could, would Eldia have been ready for that? To see a titan? Would you have been ready to complete what was forced to be started, then?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“As I thought. But, I served my purpose in the end as an incubator of sorts. And just in time, the Beast Titan I inherited from Marley, and the Attack Titan I took from Grisha’s body—”</p><p>(A grave unearthed; Eren, was so small then. His eyes wide, his entire body trembling as he watched Zeke, the great beast, claw a huge hand into the earth, bringing upward the decaying, thin-skinned corpse of his father and eating him whole). </p><p>“—Are ready to start a new thirteen year life-span in you.”</p><p>“Wait,” Armin cuts in. He’s standing behind Eren, clutching Mikasa’s arm. “I don’t understand.”</p><p>Eren doesn’t look back. “I’m taking his titans.”</p><p>Mikasa’s voice hitches. “You were just going to talk—!”</p><p>“Mikasa,” Eren bites. “When have I ever ‘<em> just talked </em>?’”</p><p>“But why?” asks Armin. “And how? I’m so lost in all of this.”</p><p>Zeke makes a noise deep in his throat. He leans forward from where he sits cross-legged near the fire. </p><p>“You’re Armin, correct?” he asks. “I know you. Your face at least, I’ve seen in some misplaced memories, not that I’ve been able to string them all together. But, I think I know this: you’re a man of logic and understanding. May I ask your opinion on something?”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>“Reincarnation must exist. So, if there are no Eldians to reincarnate as, wouldn’t our souls be better off? To one day in the future be able to only reincarnate as, say, a Marlyan or some other sort? Wouldn’t that be better? To just erase the issue entirely, titans and all?”</p><p>“I… I don’t follow—”</p><p>Zeke frowns. </p><p>“You have never been to Marley,” he nods his head, understanding. “Or outside of your tiny, tiny island. You don’t have memories, I see. No, that makes sense. You aren’t of the Ackerman or royal bloodline, and you never touched the Founding Titan, in this lifetime or the last. Of course you’d be left in the dark. Your blood and fate won’t allow you to have those shards of memories. That’s alright. There’s a freedom in nativity.”</p><p>Zeke’s hand extends. A finger traces the outline of two figures in the dirt, one greatly larger than the other. </p><p>“Clearly,” he continues. “You don’t understand the hatred for our people that has been deserved. But still, you played a wonderful role in all of this. You found the serum in the archives. It would have taken too much time to extract another and I and my compatriots in Marley don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. Thank you for that, Armin.”</p><p>His hands wipes away the larger figure, smoothing it back into the dirt. </p><p>A shaking breath escapes from Armin’s throat. He grips tighter onto Mikasa. His eyes look to Eren. “What’s going on?”</p><p>And Eren ignores him. His gaze is toward Zeke. “Once I inherit your titans,” he says evenly. “All I need is the Founding Titan.”</p><p>“Which is in the royal family, yes,” Zeke confirms. “But, keep one of them alive. Once you have the Founding Titan, you’ll still need to make contact with royal blood in order to become the coordinate. I’m sorry I can’t be that for you, but I’m sure you understand. My thirteen years are up. You’ll have to take care of the rest of it, little brother.” </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>It’s quick. It all goes sudden — Eren’s hands pull free the wooden box from Armin’s bag. And quick as a cat, Mikasa jumps. She dashes forward. Her palms connect with Eren’s shoulder, shoving him toward the ground in desperation. </p><p>“Don’t do it!” she screams. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t do it!”</p><p>She’s pinned him. Eren’s right shoulder is against the grass. The box has skidded an arm distance away. Mikasa holds onto him, gripping bruises into his arms. </p><p>“Eren—!”</p><p>Until Zeke tackles her from the side. </p><p>And they tumble and fall; the speed and weight of Zeke is enough to send he and Mikasa’s flying. Eren scampers from the tussle. He dashes to the box. </p><p>“This is—“ Zeke gasps as a fist lands against his cheekbone. “This is for the better. You need to understand! You need to—”</p><p>And Armin watches. His legs are shaking. He can’t move, gripped by fear. “Eren,” he whimpers. “Eren, what are you doing?”</p><p>By the light of the fire, Eren’s working desperate; Eren’s working fast. His knees are against the dirt as he throws open the lid of the box and screws the needle onto the syringe. He steadies the purple vial —the liquid inside sloshing — in his free hand. </p><p>“You have to trust me, Armin,” Eren whispers. “You just have to trust me. I’ll keep you and Mikasa safe. Just get Mikasa out of the way after I do this because I need to get Zeke quickly, before he has a chance to turn. I need you both in this. Trust me.” His voice is hoarse. Fraying at its edges. “Trust me, please.”</p><p>And Eren stands and steps away. The injection is ready; the liquid drips from the needle’s tip. When he yells out Zeke’s name, there’s fire in his voice. The syringe does not shake in his steady, steady hand. </p><p>“Since it’s your end, I’ll tell you the truth,” cries Eren to his brother. “I’ve hated you. I’ve always hated you. And, you’ve always been wrong. You blame Eldians, just like you blamed my mother, but it’s you and it’s the rest of the world who is at fault. If reincarnation is real, if past lives do exist, I’m going to make sure that the next lifetime anyone in this damn world relives will be as an Eldian, because that’s all that will be left.” </p><p>And he drowns the needle in his vein. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s been a week. </p><p>Seven days of silent mornings. Seven days of an empty spot at the kitchen table. Seven days without Eren’s warm breath ghosting over the back of Levi’s neck or face or brow or or or—</p><p>He had survived ten years without the brat. And before then, there had been two decades without even the knowledge of Eren’s existence. It makes no sense — utterly, <em> utterly </em> no sense — for Levi to feel as weird as he does.</p><p>So he ignores it. Goes back to making dinners meant for one person. Drinks too much wine at Hange’s. Spends more nights in Erwin’s bed. </p><p>But, eventually, they begin asking questions. He dunks Hange’s head into the bath water when she broaches upon the subject. </p><p>(<em> “Maybe your face scared him off.” </em></p><p><em> “A woman who doesn’t bathe for a week until forced shouldn’t make suggestions.” </em>)</p><p>And like an obsession, Erwin’s late-night ramblings begin to only focus on the <em> where </em> and <em> why </em> of Eren Jaeger. </p><p>(“<em> You don’t know where he went? He didn’t say a thing?” </em></p><p><em> “I just woke up one morning, and he was gone. </em>”) </p><p>Levi won’t admit it: that it hurts to answer questions he has no idea how to tackle. That, it feels like an ice pick has been left to chill within his chest. So he ignores Hange and strays from Erwin; makes excuses that seem to sound as if he’s busy, but he sits with the radio off in his apartment instead, scowling alone at the living room wall. </p><p>Somewhere in the span of those lonely days and hours, Levi snaps a sharp “Fuck it,” to himself. He invades the second bedroom with cleaning supplies in hand. </p><p>But, stops. </p><p>His hand rests on the knob of a dresser drawer. Inside: three pairs of clothing still nicely folded. There are books, still, on the bookshelf. Coats hanging in the closet. All Eren’s, left behind.</p><p>He cleans the kitchen instead. </p><p>It’s been a week. </p><p>And on the night of the seventh day, he’s late to leave the precinct. Is it ten in the evening? Eleven? He’s not sure, but in the night, some scattered windows of homes still glow. Young couples meander in the orange haze of streetlights that line the roads like torches. </p><p>The temperature of the night has not changed much from the evening — a crispness that raises the hairs of exposed skin. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets and trudges to the side street where his bike is chained. </p><p>His mood is foul. He hates to admit it. Hates to admit that he’s had this ache that swings like a pendulum between annoyance and disappointment (or, words he <em> really, truly </em> is afraid to use: loneliness and sorrow). He’s nonplussed with most things; has learned to take the arduous tasking of hell in stride.</p><p>He wants to believe, really, that the loss of Eren Jaeger is as nonchalant an event as any. He’s not Levi’s to own, despite everyone purporting the opposite; if the boy needs freedom and space and a new world, then Levi welcomes it. If there exists a vague “somewhere else” where Eren can better rest his soul, then so be it. </p><p>But Levi had wished, if only just a little, if only thought of during those languid winter mornings shoulder-to-shoulder by the furnace (or when Eren catches his eyes over the edge of a casefile; when Levi awakes on the settee with a blanket over his shoulders; when the lines beside Eren’s eyes crinkle before he laughs into his hands; when he kicks one leg over the other, bumping Levi’s own in the process, but throws his shoulder against Levi as well, as if just to prove a point), he had wished, maybe, to have been lost in that vague “somewhere else” with Eren too. </p><p>And it’s in the middle of this line of thought, as he drags himself around the corner and into the ivy-lined alleyway, when his breath suddenly hitches. His pace abruptly stops, shoes skidding against cobblestone as he makes his sudden halt. </p><p>Beside his bike, beneath a lonely streetlight, waits Eren Jaeger.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week in 'Nepenthe Abridged:' local man still blissfully unaware of behind-the-scenes monkey business. </p><p>(sorry for that bad joke. I love you all and thank you so, so much for your reading and reviews &lt;3 )</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <em> Maybe, in the end, it’s what Kenny had hoped for. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Levi stares into an empty bedroom where the paint has rotted from the walls; where a singular window is boarded with wooden planks and shut.  </em>
</p><p><em> Shut, just like the door behind Levi’s shoulders. The noise of it slamming startles him. He jumps. The doorknob clicks; a lock slides into place. For the first time in a long time, Levi — only, </em> <b> <em>god</em> </b> <em> , what was he? Nine? Ten? — feels that rise of panic from his stomach to his throat. True horror. It twits its way onto his lips where it releases in a panicked mutter: </em></p><p>
  <em> “Kenny?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And…nothing. No response. No unlatching of the door. Why would it be lockable from the outside? He twists the ungiving handle. Pounds his fists against it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s panicking. The room is dark. There’s a dirty mattress with no covering. There’s a lamp. Nothing else. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Kenny!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nothing. Levi shoves his ear against it and tries desperately to steady his breath until it’s not the only sound reverberating in his ears.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And in the distance, through the hollow wood frame, he can make out: footsteps. The murmuring of voices. A laugh. The rise and fall of Kenny’s melodic accent… but what are they saying? Are they coming here— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The door swings open, fast and hard enough to stumble Levi backwards. He lands on his ass. Looks up with wide-eyed features as two men enter through the door. They say something to one another; then, they’re saying something to him. And, they close the door behind them — one with thick, blonde hair and the other with none at all.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Levi can’t hear them, but he can see their lips moving. Can feel one of them — he can’t remember which — gripping the bottom hem of Levi’s white, little shirt and pulling it upward. He registers the chill of the air on his stomach; feels the red hot heat in his veins bounding blood back into his heart… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He knows what men like these do in rooms like this. He had seen it with his mother. He had watched her be— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Something clicks. Hitting like a jolt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Some steady, horrific calm falls over him. Despite the prickling of his nerves and the pounding of his heart, he’s steady. He’s calm. There’s clarity. He’s thinking clear. He knows there’s a knife in his pocket — the one Kenny had given to him this morning (“I taught you enough with this, right?”). </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He knows he’s going to kill them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s going to kill them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And he’s moving. Quick, fucking quick, before that bastard has pulled Levi’s shirt past his chin. There’s two of them, but that’s fine. It’s fine. Levi knows what to do and how to do it.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He can kill. </em>
</p><p>(<em> He knows where to cut and where to hit). </em></p><p>
  <em> He can — </em>
</p><p>(<em> He knows, despite being small, he can throw a second hand’s open palm behind the hilt of the knife to add extra strength when he pierces through skin). </em></p><p>
  <em> He’s never had a higher purpose in his little life; he’s never wanted anything more. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And then it’s done. The fog lifts. Very suddenly, like cold water, he registers his chest heaving. Notices the two men dead at his feet. His naked heel rests on the bald man’s neck. Levi’s throat is raw, and he doesn’t know from what. Screaming. Crying. Both. Neither.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> With a crack, the bedroom door opens a peek, just enough for Kenny to look through. His brows perk. His lips form an “Oh!” He nudges the door open wider. Crosses his arms over his chest, nodding at the carnage like it’s something wonderful and interesting. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Levi’s still panting where he stands — there’s blood all over him; all over his face. It seeps into his right eye. Stings. It’s caked beneath his nails. His nostrils stink like those copper coins. He’s gripping the small knife with two hands and only now do they begin to shake. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He wants to gag. He wants to cry. He wants to turn that knife around and shove it through his own stomach. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Coming into the room with a laugh, Kenny drops a heavy hand on the top of Levi’s head.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Well now, guess you proved it,” he says. There’s mirth in his voice. “Looks like you can take care of yourself all on your own. Don’t be needing me no more, eh, runt?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In the washroom, Levi had to use a step-stool to plunge his face into the water of the faucet. He wants to vomit. Wants to scrub off each layer of his skin until only bone is left. His knuckles are bleeding and cracked by the time he turns off the water. He can hear Kenny grunting in the hallway as he drags the men’s carcasses out in bags.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Levi stares into the washroom mirror. His face drips in a mix of cold water and hot sweat. He doesn’t recognize himself. Who is this? What is this? A monster? A phantom? He takes note of the blood-shot edges of his eyes; the hollow sockets just beneath. His pupils can’t seem to focus; his vision bounds around all hazy. He is pale. He is gaunt. Destroyed and disheveled. He wears a mute horror that seems to have crawled onto his every feature.  </em>
</p><p><em> And this expression… </em>This damned and horrific expression is the same one that Eren wears. </p><p>Levi knows it — the exhaustion and horror in Eren’s face. And when Eren’s stuttering breath hits the cold night air, it floats upward like white mist. A cracked-sounding whimper breaks from Eren’s lips. He manages out:</p><p>“Detective Levi—”</p><p>Before it dies within his throat. </p><p>And, what have you done, Levi wants to wail. In youth, Eren had committed murder. In his youth, Eren had run away to upend grave sites. And yet, never had this expression followed him. Or, never, at least, to this degree of distraught. </p><p>Levi steps forward. He can feel the pounding of his head in every step. And when he’s close — close enough — Eren suddenly crumbles. His arms reach out and curve around Levi’s shoulders and he steadies all of his weight onto Levi’s small frame. </p><p>And Levi accepts him. The sudden and tight embrace squeezes a surprised exhale from Levi’s lungs. Eren’s neck is craned, his face buried in his shoulder. Eren’s body shakes.  </p><p>“Fuck,” Eren breathes, hot through the fabric of Levi’s clothing. “God. <em> Fuck </em>.” </p><p>A painful laugh spills tight from Eren’s throat. Both of his hands are gripping and twisting the back of Levi’s jacket.</p><p>And what’s there to say in a moment like this? Levi feels wonderful and uncomfortable and a little bit terrified all at once. He grips Eren at the shoulder blades, his head cocked upward (chin pointed into Eren’s shoulder) to stare at the tall street lamp festering with moths.</p><p>He attempts humor.</p><p>“Get lost on your way home?”</p><p>And what a push of a laugh that brings out of Eren; the vibration of Eren’s chest with that breathless noise sends a rushing pitch straight into Levi’s sternum.</p><p>And, “Yeah,” Eren mutters. “I’m bad at directions.” His hold on Levi stays strong. He says, “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>Eren’s voice is so soft:</p><p>“That drink you mentioned before… Can we go have it?”</p><p> </p><p>There are little cafes dotted all along Shiganshina with their brick and wood buildings and pretty, painted signs. Throughout the morning hours, most serve black tea and pastries, or heavy potato dishes with egg; stews with bread are common for afternoon meals. Sometimes there is coffee, sometimes there isn’t; light wines and beers are served from noon onward. The cabinet for heavier drinks is unlocked at sunset and the radio is turned up higher.</p><p>They sit near the outer banks of the river, where a small terrace has been fenced off beside one of Shiganshina’s older cafes. Eren’s leaning over the table, his right ear resting against his extended arm. A lazy hand traces the rim of a beer glass. The dark, fuzzing liquid already half finished.</p><p>His face looks a bit calmer. Or, less frazzled, at least; a state likely gained from the three heavy beers already in his system. Almost, almost, almost, he looks normal.</p><p>But, his stare remains intensely pointed — rarely wavering from Levi’s face, even when his eyelids begin to look just a bit more dopey.</p><p>Levi pulls his cigarette pack from his coat pocket.</p><p>“You mind if I smoke?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. Watches as Levi places a cigarette between his lips with two fingers. Watches him flick the lighter and lean in close to the flame. Watches his eyelashes dip low on his cheeks as he watches the end ignite.</p><p>“Why did you start smoking?” asks Eren very suddenly.</p><p>“‘Why?’” An exhale of smoke slides out from Levi’s mouth. </p><p>“Yeah. I’m realizing I’m kinda surprised by it.”</p><p>Levi lifts a brow. “I’ve been addicted to these damn things since you were a kid.”</p><p>“I know. That’s why you snore at night. I hear you down the hall.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“But, really. Why?”</p><p>“Eren,” Levi shakes his head. “At this point, I should be the one asking you questions. Real questions. Not this damn trivial stuff.” </p><p>Eren’s face settles into something unreadable — and it’s that which makes Levi nervous. </p><p>Because, really, even when Eren had been a lying little shit, he was at least obvious. Levi knew how to read him — how his voice and face give clue to his nature. How wild and exaggerated he is in his expressions, both verbal and physical. Levi could read him, and Levi felt he had known him. Eren has always been fire burning fast; an uncontainable terror, but one which Levi could expect with certain seasons.</p><p>But this… There’s something off. Something recognizably off and he’s unsure how or why he can sense it; how this new cold state of Eren is so terrifyingly familiar, but beyond a scope of what Levi can understand. Somehow, Levi knows that all of the expectations he had held for Eren have been shot. </p><p>And despite the calm tone in his voice, Levi can feel his heart thrashing when he asks: “Where were you?”</p><p>On the whole, Eren’s expression doesn’t change, but Levi catches a flicker on the edge of Eren’s mouth. A few seconds pass. He’s staring at Levi, trying to find something in his face that Levi is unsure he can give him. </p><p>But he relents: “With Mikasa and Armin.” </p><p>It’s believable. Or, it’s believable enough, and Levi wants to give in to it; knows that he himself is aloof and closed by nature, and tries to give others — Eren especially — that same ounce of space. </p><p>And then, Eren asks: </p><p>“Do you remember me?”</p><p>Levi blinks. <em> What the fuck </em>? </p><p>“Are you high?”</p><p><em> A drug binge? </em> Maybe that’s why he had left? Maybe that’s why he had come back looking so fucking tired? Levi’s mind is spinning. </p><p>But, he catches it: the downward pull of Eren’s lips, how his eyes dip low in thought and disappointment. It lasts a moment before his prior expression returns. He shakes his head against his arm. “No, sorry. I phrased that question weird. Ah, I mean...” He sits upright. “I was gone for a week. Do you remember me?” He attempts a laugh, trying to ease the question behind humor. </p><p>Levi takes a sip of his beer, gripping it at the mouth of the glass. Says:</p><p>“I remembered who you were after ten years, so one week shouldn’t be too difficult.” </p><p>“I’m glad,” Eren smiles. “I’m gonna get us more drinks. It’s on me.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I thought you said you were a heavy weight.”</p><p>“Mmph.”</p><p>Levi’s balancing two things as he walks — a bike to his left, and Eren’s weight against his right shoulder. They’re almost home. The apartment building just ten steps away.</p><p>To steady himself, Eren’s got his left arm draped around Levi’s neck. While not horrifically drunk, he certainly sways when he walks, eliciting a snap of an “<em> Oi </em>!” from Levi’s lips anytime Eren leans too much in one direction. </p><p>“I am a heavy weight,” says Eren. “I had five beers and whiskey on top of it. I think I’m doing well.” His ankle almost turns. </p><p>“Yeah, real well.” Although, admittedly, Levi’s own vision feels just a little bit hazy from an almost similar intake. </p><p>“Can I tell you something?” says Eren. “I’m feeling really weird. I don’t know how to explain it to you.”</p><p>“I noticed.” </p><p>Eren stops where he stands. His arm releases from behind Levi’s shoulders. He leans against a small brick wall that comes up to his hips — behind it, a small neighborhood garden. </p><p>“I feel odd,” he says. “Like, I’m myself, but not myself. Do you feel like that sometimes?”</p><p>Levi’s leaning over, chaining his bike to a metal bike frame; he’ll leave it here for now, as he knows damn well that steadying Eren’s weight while hauling a bike up three flights of stairs is a nearly impossible feat. </p><p>Task done, he goes to stand beside Eren.</p><p>“You depressed?” he asks. “That’s a symptom of it.” There’s a very odd relief in the thought, as if this horrific entity of the mind could be an explanation for what Eren has returned as. </p><p>“I guess I am,” says Eren. But his brows furrow; he looks unconvinced. Nevertheless: “I kinda do feel like that.” </p><p>“Can I do anything?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Levi shrugs. “Anything I can do to help you?”</p><p>For the first time that night, Eren’s face opens. His expression is raw. Eyes wide. Lips parted. He shifts to sit atop the short brick wall and rubs his eyes with two hands. </p><p>“Thank you,” says Eren simply, softly. But when he pulls his hands back, a glimmer on his fingers catch in the streetlight; the shine of tears he had rubbed away. </p><p>“You’ve always been like this, haven’t you? You just… You listen to me, when I’ve felt like no one else does. Just keep doing that. Please... Please.” </p><p>Levi nods. He shifts his feet, coming to stand between Eren’s open legs. “I’ll try,” he says. “Come on. Let’s go home.”</p><p>“My head hurts.”</p><p>“Congratulations.”</p><p>“Let me just… Get a hold of myself for a second.”</p><p>“It’s cold.” </p><p>“Just one minute, that’s all I need, sir. I don’t want to cry, and I feel like I’m gonna cry and I don’t want that.” </p><p>“Eren, come on,” and Levi dips his arms beneath Eren’s legs, hauling him upward by the bend of Eren’s knees. Immediately to save himself from falling, Eren’s arms snap around Levi’s neck, allowing himself to be lifted and held. </p><p>It’s a bit awkward, the position. Levi’s grip is loose in nature, while Eren’s weight is mostly tethered around Levi’s shoulders. Thus leaves a great gap between their stomachs and chests; but their faces are close, the weight disparity forcing Levi to lean forward</p><p>He can feel Eren’s breath skirting against his lips. And it’s the alcohol, maybe, that makes him want to lean forward all the more. To close that gap. To press his lips against something… no, not against <em> something </em>, but against Eren’s skin. He wants to trail his lips against the edge of Eren’s own. Wants to find home in the warm taste of Eren’s mouth. Levi’s head is fucking spinning. Every nerve is sparking. </p><p>He almost misses it. Almost misses it, when Eren whispers, just beneath his breath...</p><p>“<em> Captain </em>—”</p><p>And Levi freezes. His grip loosens totally. Eren’s feet touch the ground.</p><p>Captain. </p><p>Captain.</p><p>
  <em> Captain. Captain. Captain. Captain.  </em>
</p><p>It spins; it spins in Levi’s head — just that word. Just that single word. But he can hear it in an amalgamation of voices and tones.</p><p><em> Captain </em>: said when someone lays dying. </p><p><em> Captain </em>: a shocked expression of horror. </p><p><em> Captain </em>: said steady and alight.</p><p><em> Captain </em>: in Eren’s voice, in Eren’s voice, in Eren’s voice… he’s heard it hundreds of times in Eren’s voice; more than he’s ever heard it from anyone else because it was Eren, only Eren, whom Levi could trust to live, even after he had—</p><p>That vertigo and nausea hit like a wave. Levi collapses at the knees and throws a hand over his mouth. He’s hunched over, leaning forward, trying to stop himself from dry heaving. Trying to stop hearing —</p><p><em> Captain captain captain captain </em> like it’s some damn song on repeat. </p><p>He registers Eren’s hand against his shoulder; knows he’s right beside him. </p><p>And the next hit of vertigo makes his vision go dark.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week in 'Nepenthe Abridged:' first kiss totally spoiled by cruel author and poorly timed "Captain."</p><p>Should you like to see the (utterly amazing) artwork that inspired this chapter from the (utterly FANTASTIC) artist Huchidori, please follow this link. It'll send you to the artwork on Tumblr: https://huchidori.tumblr.com/post/189814438007</p><p>I should note that a lot of this artist's work is what inspired a great deal of this story. Levi's method of using "Nepenthe" included. </p><p>Thank you for commenting and reading. &lt;3 It gives me the passion to keep on going!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A million apologies for releasing this chapter a day late. My recent move has (to my bad luck) put me right near a major fire. We will be returning to our usual Sunday updates this week. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Split rooftops. The tiles beneath Levi’s boots crack. Splintering, wooden houses are blanching beneath the pink-toned sun. He has seen this city before, but only on horseback; only as a passing point between the inner gates and the outer wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiganshina. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And a full day here, already, has been enough for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had put Erwin’s body to rest in one of the few buildings left behind. Whose bed was it, Levi wondered, that he would decompose in? What man or woman had once slept there and fled or died all those years ago? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a city. Ruined by every sense of the word; what had survived from the original onslaught (the day it all had begun) had been reduced half to rubble by the second, horrific wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just beyond the other side of the inner wall, a field of corpses lay scattered. They will pass them on their return home tomorrow. Look at the mangled bodies -- sons and daughters -- and leave without them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s close to evening. When the sun dips behind the walls edge, a shadow grows long;  it covers every decimated rooftop in a dark sort of chill. Levi realizes he’s only seen a real sunset outside of the walls. A weird thought. He grunts as he sits on the edge of the roof. He’s so fucking tired. Every damn muscle sore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Eren stepping closer -- the clatter of those rooftop tiles beneath his soles -- but Levi doesn’t glance back. He stares at the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is what you saw everyday,” Levi mutters. “This thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren takes a seat beside him. Not mindful of space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your teeth grown back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain. I’m sorry, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you still be sorry if I didn’t choose Armin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s face flinches. His eyes draw downward. His fingers are fisted against his thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, “No,” Eren whispers. “I’d be angry. I would be hurt, because I’ve always thought…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That we have the same ideals, I know.” Levi sighs. “But we don’t. Not always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But in this instance…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of factors went into it, Eren.” Levi presses his lips together. Glares harder at that wall. “Why Armin is alive and Erwin isn’t, isn’t because you threw a bitch fit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you. It’s a lot of factors.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s one of them?” And Eren flusters, adding: “Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cold, and getting colder. There’s a layer of dirt and ash in Levi’s lungs. He’s not one to cry; never has been, really, unless he’s rendered mad with emotion like some useless beast (Isabel, Farlan… he thinks of them, briefly). And so, the great fatigue and depression sits there, stewing in his chest; weighing him down like something heavy and wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He admits:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to see that damn ocean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something happens in between, and Levi’s not sure what. But in the dark, they no longer sit at the edge of a roof; there’s soil beneath his boots. He feels Eren’s breath, hot on his neck. He’s pressing Eren up against the brick wall of a building; the eaves of the place threatening collapse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, “Captain,” mutters Eren. And somehow, Levi knows: there are ledgers that have been opened, a basement that has been torn through. There was Eren talking to himself near the edge of the Shiganshina; his disappearance was enough to make Mikasa panic. By bad luck or good luck, Levi had found him first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And here they are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going mad,” says Eren. He knocks his head back, the top of his skull thudding against brickwork. He chokes out a laugh. His body shakes at the motion; his right leg drags upward, bending and hooking around Levi’s hips. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren. Stop.” Levi’s head is wracking. He doesn’t want to think; doesn’t want to go through the mental motions of recalling every detail of those damn books. “We’re not even sure if it’s real. If there’s actually--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s people behind the walls. There’s a country. How the fuck did my dad come from some place else? How could there be…? There’s--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi presses his hips forward; Eren’s voice breaks with the feeling. His head lolls leftward. Still, he continues:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t... I don’t want to believe it. I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll talk about it when we get back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren groans bitterly. His weight is slumped totally onto Levi. “I know. When I’m in my cell, we’ll talk about it. It’s okay, captain. I think I deserve to be thrown in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for show,” Levi corrects. “Not for my sake. You won’t be in there long, you goddamn mutineer…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s selfish. It’s horrible. But Levi wants to lose every sorrow and frustration in whatever chance he’s given. He’ll throw it all onto this boy; he’ll fuck him against the wall if Eren wants him to. He needs something. Some release. Something to work his body dry, to the point of numbing his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Eren leans his face forward, Levi wakes up.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s light. White and gentle, fading in through the half-closed curtains; specs of dust floating in the glow. Levi is in his room. He’s in his bed. Beneath his clean, pale covers, wearing the same clothes from the night before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks against the brightness. His mouth tastes rotten; his limbs feel heavy. His vision spins when he sits upright, bringing a shaking hand to hold against his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated that fucking dream. The memory of it seems to have curled into his bones, taking up his entire entity. Whatever had haunted him in the night lacked the washed-out feeling of a drowsy dream; it felt real. The touch of brick beneath his finger tips, the scent behind Eren’s ears. The heavy sorrow of his soul, the cold goosebumps on his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s going insane. That must be the cause of it; he’s dreaming in hallucinations, and his body is falling prey to psychosomatic stress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still… But still…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the quiet sound of sleep coming from the leftward side of the bed; that shallow sort of breathing that comes from the depths of dreaming. Levi leans over the side of his mattress, peering down onto the hardwood floor, where Eren sleeps on his back, a pillow behind his head, and a blanket (askew and half-off his body) over his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is he sleeping here? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Levi steps down from the bed, the creaking of the mattress is enough to make Eren sigh and groan. An arm rises to lay against his closed eyes. He shifts onto his side briefly, but the position must prove uncomfortable. The solid flooring is enough to wake him fully. His arm lowers. He blinks into the pale room before his eyes slide to Levi, who stands just beside his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep well?” snorts Levi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren rubs his eyes. “Fine enough,” he says, voice heavy with sleep. He leans upright, threading his arms over his knees. He’s staring into Levi’s face; that same intense look. An expectation in his eyes. He’s waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi asks, “You want coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren swallows. Ignores the question. “How do you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I got run over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren clicks his teeth together; thinking. “Okay,” he says, finally. His shoulders droop. He rubs two hands over his face. He gives up. “No coffee for me, but thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the kitchen, Levi doesn’t mention it. The dream, or the insanity that’s infecting his head. He’s pragmatic. He can accept most things as they come, even if one of those ‘things’ means wanting to fuck Eren against a building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s a fucking weird thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the lip of his mug, Levi watches Eren slide open the kitchen window. He’s leaning against the countertop, one leg kicked over the other; Levi takes a long sip of coffee. Eren’s chair squeals as he takes a seat at the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s talk about last night,” says Levi. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren doesn’t glance up; his nail scratches at the swirls of the wood table. But he nods, nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drug my drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that makes Eren look up, his mouth parted in shock. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A joke,” Levi corrects. He sets down his coffee mug and crosses his arms over his chest. “Anyway. What was with the ‘captain’ thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slip of the tongue?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” says Eren. His eyes have gone elsewhere, back to the tabletop. “A drunk slip of the tongue.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi wants to accept it, but he can’t. There’s that nagging, gut feeling. A correlation he can’t ignore. Despite the sickening spiral of what came after, for a singular moment, as Eren’s legs hung around his waist, as his face leaned close--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt right. It felt typical. It felt normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Captain, captain, captain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What the fuck was that dream? Levi leans his head against his hands. His mind is a jumble of moments and thoughts, one dovetailing after another. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Captain, captain, captain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that felt wrong. He had heard ‘detective’ for the past twelve years of his life, but the title doesn’t stick. It feels foreign. Odd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I have a brain tumor,” says Levi, suddenly. His eyes still buried in his palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An awkward chuckle escapes Eren’s throat. “Headaches?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, something like that. How’d I get back last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just… I carried you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tch.” What a mental image. “Bridal-style, I hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re heavier than I expected.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should have brushed my teeth before you threw me into bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That seems a bit lewd.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it?” Levi takes a seat at the table. Set his mug aside. “You prefer the floor now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” says Eren. He rests his cheek against his hand. “I was worried.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I didn’t think I could, just, crawl into bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Levi feels his brow flinch. “My bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How very polite of you, to not assume.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I have, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren,” says Levi. “I wouldn’t have given a shit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The headaches remain, following a pattern. They’re the worst in the mornings, ease by the afternoon, before kicking back up again by the time evening hits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try a higher dosage,” says Hange. From a small, brown paper envelope, she sets out three pain pills atop Levi’s desk. “Try giving up caffeine, or cigarettes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to kill myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren’s watching from the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thankfully,” Hange sighs. “I know you’re joking. But hey,” she says lightly, “Maybe Eren is giving you the headaches. Getting on your nerves too much.” She looks behind her shoulder. Winks. “Eh, Eren? Well, glad you’re back at least. Too bad you’ll have to listen to his complaining all day. I’d run away too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t--” starts Eren. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, four eyes,” Levi groans. He’s rubbing circles into his temples. He dreamt last night that they were flying, propelled by something that took them above rooftops. He remembers: Hange wore a patch over her eye; he had struggled to wonder ‘What is she now? Two eyes? Three eyes?’ He had settled to just simplify it -- keeping her as she always was: four eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These fucking dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three nights pass, and without any verbalized reason, Levi continues to wake up with Eren sleeping on the floor. He nudges him awake with his foot most mornings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You worried I’ll have a brain hemorrhage in my sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” says Eren. He yawns against the back of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere in the early morning, before the sun has risen and the room remains in that dark, blue hue, Levi is startled awake by a nightmare -- a great, skeletal beast blocking out the horizon. A shaking breath passes his front teeth. He sits upright, rakes a hand through his hair; almost feels relieved when he registers the feeling in all five fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is too dark to see, but still, he leans over to look just beyond the mattress. He can make out the silhouette of a body on the floor; can hear the rise and fall of Erens’ breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Levi sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries again, louder:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a groan. The sound of fabric shifting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eren.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like the floor that much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Eren heaves a sigh. His voice is gravely. “No, not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then stop being an idiot.” Levi scoots back to his side. “Come on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment -- maybe Eren processing the invite -- before he shuffles upward. The bed dips beneath his weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eren doesn’t sleep on the floor, or in his own bed again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week in 'Nepenthe Abridged:" awesome, sexy dreams give local man a headache. </p><p>Thank you, my readers, for giving me so much joy! Every word of your comments gives me reason to keep going, and I am beyond humbled. </p><p>See you next week. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WHELP. My hope to get this out *on time* didn't work. Thank you for being so patient -- to make it up to you, I made this chapter a bit longer than usual. :) I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Eren is a few things to him.</p><p>An anomaly, firstly. An odd spectre of dreams that seems to have four sets of faces — there’s the child he had known, there’s the teenager cloaked in green, the adult he is now, and a monster. He’s equally a comfort and a burden. A warm relief in the depths of lucidity, or a face Levi wants to smash into concrete. It can go either way, easily. Swinging like a pendulum—</p><p>(That’s a lie; in reality, Eren is the vulnerable boy listening to the radio as he lays on the settee; a fire there, but quelled. He is the arms-folded-over-his-knees entity that sits outside on the patio as Levi smokes through eight cigarettes in the middle of the night, when a dream has awoken Levi with what feels like an ice pick through his skull — Eren never mentioning that the chemical smoke still makes him sick. Levi adores him more than he could ever hate him).</p><p>Eren is a work colleague… kinda. A former delinquent made partner.</p><p>(How strange, still, to say in the doorframe of case-scenes:</p><p>
  <em> ‘I’m Detective Levi Ackerman. This is my partner, Eren Jaeger.’) </em>
</p><p>Eren is a shadow at the edge of Levi’s heel, from dawn until the deepest hours of the night; during daylight, he’s going through each rubber-stamped file. Filling the office with words Levi hadn’t planned on ever hearing:</p><p>‘Sir,’ and ‘Are you tired?’ and ‘How’s your head?’ and spoken slowly, softly, right at the top curve of Levi’s ear:</p><p>“<em> Do you want to go home </em>?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Levi asks Hange:</p><p>“What do you call Moblit?”</p><p>“Moblit?” muses Hange. “Oh, <em> hm </em>.”</p><p>There’s an awkward word that Levi can’t place — ‘colleague’ doesn’t work. ‘Friend’ feels strange. There’s ‘partner,’ there’s ‘flatmate,’ there’s ‘brat,’ there’s… what? Where’s the word to put someone who is everything and nothing; sand that weighs heavy in the palms of Levi’s hand, but slips through the spaces of his fingers, anyway.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Eren’s started to smell like you.”</p><p>There’s a fresh cigarette between Levi’s teeth. There’s wind in the courtyard, a quick and unceasing gust that riles hair into his eyes. Levi cups a hand around his lighter, the lick of fire dancing on and off. He leans in with frustrated and furrowed brows.</p><p>“We do share laundry loads, you know,” Levi mutters once he’s pulled. He spares no glance toward Mike Zacharius beside him. He slips his lighter into his coat pocket.</p><p>From the back of his throat, Mike makes a low sound. An <em> ‘Mm’ </em> or <em> ‘Huh’ </em> or something condescending of the sort.</p><p>“It’s not that,” corrects Mike. Half of his face is obscured by his large hand. His cigarette, bleeding smoke, is held between two fingers. “It’s not his clothes or his hair with your smell. It’s his skin.”</p><p>(There are cold mornings, and Levi awakens; the sun barely dawning, his nerves shot from dreaming. There’s a rise and fall against Levi’s back; Eren’s spine pressed up against his own. And he’s so warm, Eren; his skin always burning warm beneath the covers. Through fabric, Levi can feel him. And he sleeps so quietly, just the lull of the ups and downs of breathing. It’s enough — almost enough — to put Levi back to sleep).</p><p>“You’re fucking creepy,” Levi chides, but his tone is bored and aloof. “Windy days must be a fucking overload for you.”</p><p>“Kinda.” Mike draws smoke into his mouth and blows it out quick. “You both seeing that merchant tonight?”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Levi. “Reeves. Should I wear cologne? He gonna use his big nose and think there’s two of me?”</p><p>Ever serious, Detective Zacharius responds: “I’m sure he wouldn’t notice.”</p><p>Levi sighs.</p><p>“Sarcasm, Mike.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Want me to go through anything else again?”</p><p>“No, sir. I think I got it. As you said, I’ll just go with whatever happens. I think I can act.”</p><p>“Yeah. Just be on your toes. Don’t be obvious with anything. Don’t get killed. Well, you won’t get killed if you’re smart.”</p><p>There are two guns with two holsters that are to be secured around the chest. Levi hates the feeling of the damn thing in his hand (cold and metal and slick; eleven years ago, he had cocked a gun in his right hand, while the free fingers of his left dragged and pulled hair from Kenny’s scalp, as he brought the man kicking and cursing onto that fucking dirt patch to die).</p><p>Eren says: “I’ve never held a gun before.”</p><p>“It’s diversionary,” says Levi. He slides the holster’s strap into place over his broad chest. He’s amazed, almost, at how easily Eren had figured out the loops and buckles of the holster on his own. “What’d the cadet corps teach you how to fight with?”</p><p>“Close combat, mostly,” shrugs Eren. He’s staring at the sharp angles of his gun. “How to use your body weight to your advantage.”</p><p>“Gotcha.” Levi considers the unsprung switchblade in his hand. After some short thought, he slips it beneath the band of his underwear and trousers.</p><p>“Let’s see how thorough they are with their pat-downs,” he says. From his peripherals, he catches Eren smirking.</p><p>“If you’re really wanting attention there, sir,” says Eren evenly, “There are better ways to do it.”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Levi. He straightens out his clothes. Runs a quick hand through his hair to set it into place. “I bet.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s so disgustingly opulent. The grand, wooden doors that almost touch the edging of the roof. The sweeping, angled eaves and arched windows. There’s a front garden with rose bushes lining a gravel walkway. A wrought iron gate. A greenhouse filled with citrus trees in the back garden.</p><p>The evening wind keeps blowing hair into Levi’s eyes.</p><p>A small assembly of men — guards, most likely, or hired thug friends — meet them at the gates. Five total; what an overload. There’s no uniform or standard look to them; they’re a hodge-podge mix of bastards with dirt on their slacks and an anxious tick to their features.</p><p>“You Levi Ackerman?” one asks. He’s looking pale.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“And this is?”</p><p>“Eren Kruger,” says Eren.</p><p>“Haven’t heard your name before,” says a man from the group.</p><p>“He’s new,” says Levi. Redirects: “Where’s Reeves?”</p><p>The tallest man of the mass doesn’t answer. Says instead: “You got weapons on you?”</p><p>“We do. Here.” And Levi lifts his right hand, holding his palm open, while his left sweeps aside his coat to reveal the gun in its holster. “I’ll let you grab it. Eren’s got the same. I’ll give these weapons to you out of trust, got it? Out of the sake of new friendships. Fucking shoot me in the back and I’ll crawl out of my grave and rip your cock off.”</p><p>The guns are given to the smallest man — a little, bald creature with close-set eyes and wide suspenders. He oogles the weapons; his hands shake, slightly.</p><p>They’re led through the doors, through a grand foyer, to a backroom tucked beside the garden. There are no windows. Only a single door. A round, yellow-toned table sits uncovered in the middle. Dimo Reeves sits in a creaky, wooden chair, his body half-slumped over a ledger as he writes. The little, bald man with the wide suspenders scuttles into the room first, placing the two guns in the center of the table with a nod.</p><p>“Anything else on them?” Dimo mutters beneath his breath.</p><p>“Ah,” says the little man. He catches Levi’s eye. Winces. “Ah no, don’t think so.”</p><p>“Fine. Get outta my face, right? Oh, look here — Detective Levi Ackerman!” And Dimo stands with a great flourish. He swings both arms outward in a warm greeting. “I’m entranced to meet the man himself. Sit down, please, both you and…?”</p><p>“Eren Kruger,” says Eren again. He slides into a chair and folds his arms in front of him.</p><p>“I see,” says Dimo. He scratches the front of his neck. Comes over to pat Eren on the left shoulder; the false friendliness as warm as his cold hands. “Haven’t heard your name before. Where you from?”</p><p>Eren’s looking a bit stirred. His eyes just a bit too angled; there’s tension held between his brows.</p><p>“Here. Shiganshina.”</p><p>“Ah. Shiganshina. I know practically everybody. This may just be my ‘summer home’ when the inflow of trades get busy — and do they get busy, boy — but, I like to know my way around a city. Which part of Shiganshina you from?”</p><p>“You trying to take him on a date?” Levi snorts. He kicks a leg atop the table.</p><p>“Merely curious, detective. I like to get to know my friends.”</p><p>“No one here wants to play fake formalities. Sit down and let’s talk.”</p><p>“Now, now,” says Dimo. His chair groans beneath his weight. “It’s not that. You know all about me, Mr. Ackerman — can I call you Levi? — actually, I’m sure you both know about me. So then,” and he rests his hands on his chest. “The only one here that’s kept in the dark is me. I know you.” He waves toward Levi.</p><p>Then that hand waves back over, directing toward Eren. Dimo lets his voice hang as he probes: “But I don’t know your…?”</p><p>“Partner,” Eren slips.</p><p>And.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>If there’s a word not to say, ‘partner’ would quickly follow behind ‘junior investigative detective.’</p><p>Eren’s face immediately flinches. The mood in the room quickly shifts; Dimo’s yellowed smile changing from its false warmth to a stumped baring of teeth.</p><p>Later, Levi would realize, there were a great number of better things he himself could have said. ‘Business partner.’ ‘Syndicate partner.’ Even goddamn ‘partner in crime.’</p><p>But what stumbles smoothly through Levi’s lips, without much thought is:</p><p>“He means my romantic partner.”</p><p>And a silence follows.</p><p>Levi keeps his gaze steady; his eyes bored and hooded, lips absolutely straight while he mentally pummels both himself and Eren for making so many amateur mistakes.</p><p>The five men must be watching Dimo. Eren’s got a gaping mouth, his eyes flirting between faces. And, Dimo’s watching Levi’s eyes, waiting for the moment to crack into either a joke, or a reveal that — <em> that’s righ </em>t — this has been a sting operation all along.</p><p>And maybe the silence is so much, that it even makes goddamn Eren uncomfortable, because with a little clearing of his throat in that silent, heavy room, he leans in close to Levi — his lashes dip low, his mouth a breath away from the curve of Levi’s ear; so close, that Levi can feel the heat from Eren’s skin — and says loud enough for all parties to hear:</p><p>“I didn’t know you were ready to tell people.”</p><p>And Levi feels the muscle beneath his eye twitch.</p><p>Levi is going to kill him. Kick his teeth out. Smother him with his hands and with his face—</p><p>“Well,” says Levi through gritted teeth, “You were the one who blurted it out, <em> darling </em>.”</p><p>And, Eren’s still leaning in close, His collarbone pressed against Levi’s shoulder. But there’s a humor, now, in Eren’s eyes. A small rise in his lips that could almost be construed for a smile. And Levi knows he’s trying to be a smartass, when he feels Eren’s fingers curl around his left, inner thigh. </p><p>(And that sends a jolt from where Eren’s fingertips press, straight up to Levi’s hips). </p><p>So Levi takes this damn charade and runs with it.</p><p>He kicks the side of his foot against Eren’s from beneath the table. Says to Dimo:</p><p>“So, I’m sure you get why he’s here. I’m not sure what Petra or your son told you, and I hate to lay it all out on the table—”</p><p>But, Dimo’s head is elsewhere.</p><p>“From what I heard, I never pegged you as the…” Dimo struggles for words. “Romantic sort. Especially not with the…” He waves a hand in the air, again, like that’s supposed to explain the abstract idea of male genitalia.</p><p>Levi blinks. “Well,” he says in a deadpan. “<em> Surprise </em>.”</p><p>He continues on. Brushes Eren’s squeezing hand away from beneath the table, and leans forward in his seat: “Listen, you understand the draw of a family business. You have one yourself. Drug running is what I know best. Better than half-assed laws, or playing good guy. And at the precinct… Shit, the pay is nothing to scoff at, but compared to what drug running can make you…”</p><p>“So you want back an ‘in,’” says Dimo. “That’s what I’ve heard.”</p><p>“I’m shopping around…” Levi catches himself. “‘<em> We’re </em>’ shopping around.”</p><p>“Let’s have a drink,” says Dimo. He knocks his knuckles against the table. One of the men slips through the door. Returns with an unopened bottle of cognac and three short, pearly glasses.</p><p>“I’ll let you open it, and I’ll let you pour it. I’ll even be the first to taste it,” says Dimo. “No funny business. I want all your trust, as I’m sure you want mine.”</p><p>“You’re a good businessman,” says Levi. The guns still sit in the middle of the table.</p><p>The first sip burns sweet, prickling at the edges of the tongue. He’s no connoisseur of booze; dark liquors have burned his stomach since he was thirteen, but he pulls through for the sake of appearances.</p><p>“So what are you imagining?” asks Dimo. The short cup balances in his hand before he finishes it. He nods his head. Points roughly at Eren and Levi’s glasses: finish your drinks.</p><p>Another round is poured.</p><p>“I’ve been in almost all aspects of Nepenthe,” says Levi.</p><p>“I’ve heard,” says Dimo. “What was it? Judge, jury, and executioner?”</p><p>“Something like that,” Levi says in dismissal. “I’m interested to know where it starts. How the hell Nepenthe gets from point A to point B.”</p><p>“No one really knows.”</p><p>“I have more faith in you, Mr. Reeves,” Levi chides. “You’re one of three business entities our government trusts to manage imports. There are no ‘mysterious shipments’ for you.”</p><p>Dimo shakes his head. Finishes his glass.</p><p>Levi presses: “So, you got an idea?”</p><p>“This is sounding like an interview, <em> detective </em>.”</p><p>“My bad. I guess old habits die hard.”</p><p>And another round is poured.</p><p>Dimo waves across the table. “What’s your, uh, <em> friend </em> think about all this?”</p><p>Eren’s glass is already half finished. Dimo leans over. Fills it back to the top.</p><p>“I don’t mind it,” says Eren. He’s trying to sound casual, Levi can taste it in his tone. “But, I’d like to get out of Eldia.”</p><p>“Ah,” Dimo grins in good humor. “Our little kingdom not good enough for you?” </p><p>“No,” confirms Eren, “It’s not.”</p><p>“I’ll be blunt,” Levi cuts in. “I’ve spoken to a few syndicates. We were offered partnership, or fifty or seventy-five percent of the profit. Is it tempting? Sure. Is it shit I’ve done before? Yeah.”</p><p>Dimo refills their drinks. Levi’s tongue is starting to feel heavy. Eren’s leaning his weight against him again.</p><p>“I’ve been figuring,” he continues, “I’ve never worked from the start of the process. Your competition can give me damn good shares of money, but they can’t give me that.”</p><p>“So that’s why you’re speaking to me,” says Dimo, nodding his head in thought.</p><p>“I’d rather be your ally than your enemy.”</p><p>“I’d like that too, Levi,” says Dimo. “You’re a real bad enemy to have, if I’ve heard the stories correctly. But, I do appreciate, Detective Ackerman, that you didn’t take out my underground branch during all your years in the precinct. Petra and her sort. That would have been an easy gig for you.”</p><p>“I suppose you can’t rewrite loyalties.”</p><p>“I suppose not. But, I still can’t wrap my head around it… So what are you wanting? To manage my Nepenthe source in Marley? I don’t care if it’s just out of interest. Who the fuck would want that? It’s strange to me. I can’t trust blind ambition like that.”</p><p>“I’m running from a murder charge,” says Eren suddenly. It’s enough to make Levi’s shoulders jump. “I can’t stay in Eldia.”</p><p>Dimo blinks. His heavy and hooded eyes have been thrown wide. His mouth parted in something like interest. “Oh,” he says. “Ah-ha. So, that makes more sense. That’s what’s going on.”</p><p>He takes a moment to think. Suddenly claps out a laugh. Points the mouth of the empty bottle toward Levi.</p><p>“My friend, you really are a crooked cop! You throw him in your bedroom instead of a prison cell? Did you meet on the job? Oh! This is damn brilliant.”</p><p>Levi’s glaring over the edge of his cup. Mutters beneath this breath: “Right.”</p><p>“It’s still wild to me,” says Dimo. “A cop fucking a criminal. Or, is it the other way around?” He rubs a hand over his ruddy face, laughing. “Apologies, I’m being rude.”</p><p>“We take turns,” says Levi casually, like it’s talk of the weather. “Who gets a dick in their ass depends on the day of the week.”</p><p>Eren’s brows raise. His mouth winces. “Fuck. You’re being vulgar.”</p><p>“He sounds like my wife,” cracks Dimo. He raises his voice an octave: “‘Don’t be vulgar, don’t be vulgar.’” Dimo’s face is red from cognac. He waves a hand at one of his men. Says:</p><p>“Go get my Shandy Cognac, would you? The unopened one.” Dimo turns his attention back to the table. “That’s my favorite Cognac. It’s not from here. It’s from Marley. You’ll like it. Anyway—”</p><p>“Sir,” and the small man peeks his head through the door a moment later. “My apologies, but it seems we no longer have that choice of cognac.”</p><p>“What the fuck are you talking about?”</p><p>“I took a look, boss, and—”</p><p>“Nasper. Thomas,” says Dimo waving at two of the men standing at the walls. “Go help that idiot… Alright. Mr. Ackerman, Mr. Kruger… Let’s talk a few details. I don’t take on business associates quickly. I’ve found that I teach them the ropes, and then they try to take the ropes from me. I don’t like that. I could have you both a damn sea away from us, but that doesn’t change the fact—”</p><p>“Sir,” and the room door opens again. “I think… I think Paul was right. There’s no Shandy Cognac.”</p><p>“You’re fucking with me!” roars Dimo.</p><p>“I’ll go look with them boss,” says one of the last two men in the room. “I’ll make sure we find it.”</p><p>“You better. What the fuck am I paying you for?”</p><p>The door closes again.</p><p>“Anyway,” says Dimo in a grumble. “Here’s my issue. I’m sitting here, staring at a man who created one of the most prolific drug kingdoms in recent history, and who damn well murdered his own flesh and blood. And, this man is wanting to know <em> exactly </em> where I get <em> my Nepenthe </em>from. Do you see the issue? Do you see how this could spell trouble for me? And then this one…”</p><p>Dimo faces Eren.</p><p>“What do I know about you? Nothin’. ‘On the run for murder.’ Alright. What murder? How? Why? Give me a reason to trust you. Tell me something dangerous. Who’d you kill?”</p><p>“My dad,” says Eren. He’s drunk. Levi can tell. There’s a haze in Eren’s eyes. “And some Marleyans…”</p><p>And that’s it. Two muttered phrases, and Eren’s said too much. Levi watches Dimo’s expression change immediately.</p><p>“How long ago?”</p><p>“Recently,” lies Eren.</p><p>“No, that’s not true.” Dimo leans back in his chair. “What’d you say your name was? Kruger? No. It’s Eren Jaeger, isn’t it? Some of my cop buddies were telling me about you… You were that fucking, little murderer who got hired once you got out of jail. Working under…”</p><p>And his eyes get wide as they flip onto Levi’s face. And suddenly, Dimo’s reaching out, his arm outstretching. Reaching for one of the guns on the table—</p><p>Before Levi buries the sharp edge of his switchblade through the back of Dimo’s hand, passing skin and bone and tendon, the edge of the blade knicking into the tabletop below. He was quick; on his feet before the tip of Dimo’s finger could touch the cold metal of the gun. Eren scrambles beside Levi, each hand grabbing for a pistol. He points it at the single thug in the room, who throws his arms up immediately.</p><p>“Lock the door and stand against it,” yells Eren.</p><p>“Fucking liars!” Dimo wails. He’s screaming. Bleeding out. Levi’s standing just beside him; the hand not holding the blade grabs the back of Dimo’s scalp. He shoves the man’s face onto the table with a slam. Leans over him, all of Levi’s body weight keeping Dimo where he lands.</p><p>“If you want to get fucking arrested, I’ll arrest you. Your son, your wife, all of your pretty little bastards you’ve got in this fucking game—”</p><p>“You can’t,” there’s tears in Dimo’s throat from the agony of his pierced hand. “You’ll take the country down with it. I’m the only—”</p><p>“You’re not the only fucking merchant worth anything. You know that yourself. Get your head out of your ass, you stupid fucker.”</p><p>Eren looks over his shoulder. “Harsh, sir,” he says.</p><p>“Shut it, Jaeger,” snorts Levi.</p><p>He lifts Dimo’s head by a fraction. Slams it back down again. “Let me tell you something,” Levi says to the man. “I’ll be honest. I respect you. You’ve gotten a lot done. I can better afford cigarettes ever since your company took over their import. And, I don’t give a shit that you import Nepenthe. I don’t want to throw you in jail over it. I wanna keep smoking my cigarettes without emptying my goddamn wallet. You get that, boss?”</p><p>And Dimo grunts.</p><p>“So, even if I <em> will </em> do it, I don’t <em> want </em> to throw your ass in jail or mangle you up until I get an answer. The only goddamn thing I’m trying to figure out is where your damn Nepenthe is sourced. That’s all.”</p><p>“And then what?” gasps Dimo. He’s stopped struggling now, at least. “You arrest them and topple my—”</p><p>“How the fuck would I have the jurisdiction to arrest Marleyans? This is a research mission.”</p><p>“If not arrest them, then kill them. If not kill them, then — <em> Gah </em>!” Levi’s twisted the knife by a fraction.</p><p>“At the rate you’re talking, you’ll be dead before they’ll be. I’m trying to give you a good deal. I’m asking for one bit of information for a side gig of your’s, and in return I’m leaving you alone on everything else.”</p><p>“How can I believe you?”</p><p>“I dunno.”</p><p>Levi twists the knife a bit further. Dimo chokes out a cry.</p><p>“Worse case scenario if you tell me,” and Levi sighs. “You lose one area of profit. Otherwise, you bleed out on this damn table or I let you rot in prison for the remainder of your life. But as I said...” and Levi eases his grip on the back of Dimo’s head. “I don’t wanna do that. Maybe that’s why I tried to play it off like I’m fucking him—”</p><p>And Levi nods his head toward Eren.</p><p>“—instead of just threatening you with violence in the first place.”</p><p>“Sick bastard,” Dimo mutters. He tests the ring finger on his right hand, stares hard at the knife that holds that hand and finger down like a bug on display behind glass. “It’s not Marleyans I get my supply from,” says Dimo. And his voice is quiet. A whisper of giving up:</p><p>“They’re Eldians. Living in Marley. They call themselves the Eldian Restorationists.”</p><p> </p><p>Levi’s heel hits concrete. He’s sparking. He’s alive. The cold wind sweeps into his open mouth and through his hair and into his eyes.</p><p>They’re dashing through the streets. Pepper-footed. On fire. Eren’s bent arms swing like an athlete's as he runs. And, Eren’s lips are cracked open, his mouth pouring laughter into the dark air.</p><p>“I can’t believe it,” says Eren between gasps. His heel almost turns. He stumbles forward. Catches himself. Laughs harder. “What the hell was that, Detective? That was the worst… That was the worst…”</p><p>“The worst goddamn undercover mission I’ve ever had,” Levi confirms. He can feel the pull on the side of his lips; can anticipate the rise of joy in his own chest. Levi stops running. Doubles over. Arms gripping around his stomach as he heaves out a laugh.</p><p>“Oh my god… Oh my god,” cracks Eren, skidding to a stop. “You’re laughing. That’s really...” and Eren presses his two hands over his own eyes. They’re drunk on cognac. They’re drunk on energy.</p><p>“<em> Fucking— </em> ” Levi manages, still bent over laughing. “Fucking, the <em> worst </em>partner—”</p><p>“Romantic partner—”</p><p>God, he’s drunk. He’s so fucking drunk. He feels like he’s high again. Lost all sense of sanity.</p><p>“You dumbshit,” Levi breathes. They’ve come to a stop in an alleyway where lamps hang from iron that’s been twisted along the buildings. A coppery glow is on their faces. It reflects pretty in their wind-swept hair.</p><p>Eren’s taken Levi by the shoulders; an attempt to haul him upward. To pull him closer to home. But, as Levi rises, he takes a long step forward, and Eren’s caught in the movement. Stumbling backwards as Levi takes two steps toward a wall, and pins him against it. It’s a sudden movement. The brickwork presses deep into Eren’s back.</p><p>“What the fuck were you thinking?” asks Levi, and all of the laughter is gone from his voice. His face is close. His eyes slanted. The palms of his hands press against the building. His chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs… all keep Eren tight against the wall. “I thought you were smarter than that. You gave us up left and right.”</p><p>“Sir,” Eren whispers, his voice a bit breathless. “Your leg—”</p><p>Levi shifts his hips. His right thigh, wedged between Eren’s legs, pushes up against him harder and angles just a little bit higher and—</p><p>“<em> Ah </em>—”</p><p>“Eren.”</p><p>Eren’s hands are awkward. Loose at his sides. He raises them at the wrist, fingers splayed. Takes a shaking and tentative grip on Levi’s hips. </p><p>“Sorry,” says Eren, stuttering the word. “I should have been more careful.”</p><p>“Fucking up that bastard’s first question. Who the hell answers ‘partner?’”</p><p>“I… At least… At least I didn’t say ‘romantic partn— <em> Ah </em>.”</p><p>Levi’s moved his leg again, and exactly what is happening is too obvious to be ignored at this point. The press of Eren’s erection is against Levi’s hip. </p><p>And it feels nice it feels great it feels—</p><p>“And,” says Levi lowly, “Giving details of your damn murder case…”</p><p>—familiar. It’s familiar.</p><p>“I know,” and a gasp of a stutter slips from Eren’s lips. His neck cranes back. His eyes close. “That was stupid of me.” His fingers are pressing bruises; pushing Levi’s hips all the more forward with a tight grip. A whine forms behind Eren’s closed lips. </p><p>And, fine. If this is it, then, so fucking be it. There’s the excuse of alcohol. The excuse of a rush. Things have gotten weird enough without comment; maybe this singular moment can be just another.</p><p>All of Eren’s weight has been suspended onto Levi; fixed to a point where their chests and hips connect. The buckles of the gun holsters on their chests pressing into one another. Levi lets himself be guided; lets Eren grind their hips together; enjoys the sharp gasp that hisses through Eren’s teeth when Levi pulls away. </p><p>“You’re actually getting off on this?”</p><p>Eren’s face is flushed. Levi eyes the angle of his jaw. The curve of his neck. </p><p>He wants to bite a million bruises up and down it.</p><p>“I’ll come like this,” says Eren. “If you let me.”</p><p>“Tch,” and Levi wrinkles his nose. “What a mess. Come here.”</p><p>He’s dreamt it before: Eren’s leg around his hips. Eren was shorter then, his hair more closely cut. But it’s better this way — Eren being taller — Levi likes it. Prefers it, really. When he gives just a little tug on the back of Eren’s thigh, Eren already knows the motion like he’s dreamt the same moment before. His right leg secures around Levi, holding them close. Giving more of an angle for Levi to slip his hands lower and undo the front of Eren’s belt.</p><p>And Eren whimpers:</p><p>“<em> Oh, god </em>.”</p><p>Levi knows somehow — even if he can’t remember it in a dream — that Eren’s already goddamn drenched with precome; there’s no need for spit. Eren’s slick in his right hand as Levi pulls his fingers and palm from base to tip. He can feel Eren shiver beneath his touch. He lets his hand drag back and forward in fast, jutting movements. </p><p>Levi wants to tell him how often he’s haunted by a scenario just like this; how he doesn’t know how or when or what changed between them. Why he dreams of either fucking or killing Eren almost every night. The emotion feels ragged and desperate; wanting to erupt in a wail from Levi’s open, panting mouth. </p><p>Eren’s breathing hard; eyes half lidded. His hips are keening forward, lifting his ass from brick. He’s gripping more bruises into Levi’s arms. </p><p>“I’m close,” says Eren. “I’m—”</p><p>And this is what Eren likes (how Levi knows this, he's not entirely sure), what brings him from the edge to spilling over: the slick drag of Levi’s thumb right up against his slit. And, the motion for Levi comes naturally, his parted lips pressing against Eren’s collarbone as he repeats a motion done tens of times before.</p><p>And Eren breaks. A moan catches in his throat. His body goes tense. His hips thrust once, twice, thrice, and he’s spilling hot into Levi’s hand. </p><p>And then, he’s gone slack. A shaking, heavy mess of a body. Still holding Eren up, Levi frees his soiled hand and shakes it out onto the street. Not perfect, but good enough for now. </p><p>He waits just a moment. Lets Eren catch some clarity before Levi steps back and mutters:</p><p>“Come on. Let’s go home.”</p><p>Eren clears the heaviness in his throat. “Hold on,” and he slips downward, his knees touching stone. His grip is back on Levi’s hips. Pulling him forward again. ”I’ll…”</p><p>And what a thought: to bury himself to the hilt in Eren Jaeger’s warm mouth. To see those big, green eyes staring up at him through dark lashes. </p><p>But.</p><p>“Eren.” And with his clean hand, Levi pats the side of Eren’s face. This first time — what should be the only time — was just a little bit pathetic; rutting against a wall; jacking Eren off in an alleyway. </p><p>He deserved better than this, Eren. Not much better, but a little bit better. At least, he shouldn’t be treated like some back alley prostitute sucking cock against a filthy ground.  </p><p>“Come on,” says Levi again. Without much effort, he breaks from Eren’s grip. “You’ll fuck up your knees.” </p><p>The walk home is quiet. Not awkward. Just, silent. Eren’s a pace behind Levi, and as the alcohol wanes, the sense of guilt rises like pinpricks within Levi’s head. </p><p>The pounding of a headache returned. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week on 'Nepenthe Abridged:' "Wow, I can't believe we pretended to be gay for one another" *proceeds to practically fuck against a wall*</p><p>Lots of things this chapter! Let me know your thoughts, if you like. As always, thank you for making this crazy thing worth writing. I am humbled and appreciate you all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quick update! For just a short while, as I get my bearings back together since the fire, new chapters will be posted either Sunday OR Monday/Tuesday. Don't worry -- this disorganized schedule won't be for long, and we'll be back to our regular posting date soon. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>There’s a thin, little tree branch tapping against the window, pushed by the wind to hit against the glass. It’s to this <em> tap-tap-tapping </em> that Levi awakens, eyes groggy with sleep and the temples of his head throbbing.</p><p>There’s a chance, maybe, that he’s hungover. He’s got cottonmouth — the taste on his tongue disgusting and dry. He had been dreaming of something; abstract pieces he can’t seem to string together: his hands securing belts around his thighs, a body of a large human billowing steam, a flattened earth…</p><p>Everything seems to rest on the tip of his tongue. He <em> knows </em> he must know or understand something — why every damn image in his sleep seems to correlate — but he lacks (or refuses) the dots to connect them.</p><p>He’s more apt to believe in brain tumors or mental degradation from that damned drug of unknown origin, than some paranormal second world.</p><p>
  <em> Tap-tap-tap. </em>
</p><p>The spot beside him on the mattress is empty. Yesterday, last night, this morning… Levi’s not sure when, but Eren’s made his side of the bed; his pillows set straight, the wrinkles brushed out of the comforter. Levi stares at this clean spot for some time, thinking and blinking slowly as he listens to the wind in the trees.</p><p>Last night, not much had been said. The jangle of the apartment keys had made more noise than either of them. A glass of water. Brushing of teeth. And, Levi had passed out before Eren had ever entered the room.</p><p>He groans into his palms. Rotates and cracks the bones in his ankles before he slides off the bed and goes into the kitchen.</p><p>Eren’s gone.</p><p>And fuck, that pulls up something nasty. A rise of dread that feels as suffocating as plastic. The kitchen clock ticks. Wind hits against the walls. Levi stares with slumped shoulders into the empty space of the kitchen.</p><p>He feels tired. But, all of the red-tinned coffee canisters are empty. His head is throbbing needles.</p><p>And Eren is gone.</p><p>He makes tea. Boils water on the stove and throws a packet into a white mug that never seems to let go of its rings of tea-stains no matter how hard he scrubs. There are papers on the kitchen table — white envelopes containing bills and advertisements; the newspaper from yesterday. He resists the urge for a cigarette and sits at the table instead, tapping errant fingers against the yellow wood as he waits for the water to boil.</p><p>His head is stinging.</p><p>He reaches for the newspaper, but the words seem worthless.</p><p>Shit, he wants a cigarette.</p><p>There’s a pen on the table. He taps it between his index and middle finger. Kicks his right ankle over his left knee and slouches forward to take one of those white envelopes. And it’s mindless work, mostly, how he scratches pen marks on paper. A series of looping circles and x’s, until he leans his cheek in his left hand and taps the point of the pen down thrice.</p><p>The edge of his mouth twitches. He sketches out lines, folding curves around their peripherals until he’s made two intersecting wings that, well, look more like disfigured, fat hands. Beside this monstrosity, he draws a creature with long arms, adding squiggly lines to everywhere but its face and stomach: one of the creatures from his dreams. Then, he glides a long, uneven oblong near the bottom of the envelope — gives it stick arms and legs and and round, stupid head. Between the “head” and the “body,” he adds a tiny figure there.</p><p>In his dreams, that tiny figure is always Eren. Erupting from this titan's neck like a savior.</p><p>The water’s boiling. Levi slams down his pen and sighs as he pours the hot water into his cup. Still in his sleep clothing, he pads into the living room where he sets the radio and lays his mug on a coaster.</p><p>He’d chide himself for it later — call himself an old man —, but just a moment after his body hits the soft settee, he settles on his back and falls asleep.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a clatter in the kitchen when Levi’s eyes squint open. It’s the obvious noise of things being set about; cabinets opening and closing, the bright clinking of tin cans and jars. He had dreamed of nothing, as fast naps usually afforded him. And waking up in this late morning, he finds a light blanket over his body, draped from his shoulders to his knees. His hand touches the fabric, knowing it hadn’t been there before.</p><p>With a groan, he eases off the couch, folds the blanket, takes his lukewarm tea, and slinks into the kitchen. There, in front of the table, Eren’s back is to him, his shoulders broad and slanted. His neck is bowed. His elbows bent. He holds something between his hands that he stares down into.</p><p>And, seeing him — if Levi is honest with himself — rises up a slurry of both relief and frustration. It’s a tight, tight feeling in his chest.</p><p>There are sarcastic words ready at the tip of Levi’s tongue; his mouth is about to part before Eren says suddenly and without glancing back:</p><p>“You drew this.”</p><p>There’s a hesitance in his voice, coming out breathless and from the back of his throat.</p><p>And, ah, Levi relizes. Those stupid drawings.</p><p>He rounds Eren’s shoulder to pour his stale tea down the kitchen sink and catches the bright shine of a red coffee canister on the counter. Beside it, a new yellow cigarette pack, a loaf of uncarved bread…</p><p>Levi’s shoulders relax, the tension releasing with a sigh.</p><p>Eren had just gone to the market; he curses his own neuroticism.</p><p>Behind him, Eren is still silent, and Levi knows he’s remained staring with that envelope between his fingers.</p><p>“It’s just mindless shit,” says Levi. He runs the water in the sink; attempts to scrub out those damn tea stains.</p><p>Eren says nothing. Long enough, for Levi to glance behind his shoulder. He raises a brow.</p><p>And he realizes: this is the first time today he has seen Eren’s face, and the expression is one of a somber intensity. Mouth barely parted, brows pulled back, eyes wide and focussed on the envelope he holds.</p><p>“Oi,” says Levi, shaking water off his hands. He turns, resting his lower back against the counter. “My drawings that bad?”</p><p>Something in Eren’s expression flinches — that sad curve of his brow grows deeper, but a shaky, little smile pulls at his lips.</p><p>“Yeah,” says Eren with a breathy laugh, “You always have been really bad at drawing.”</p><p>“Tch.”</p><p>“Detective Levi—”</p><p>“Thanks for the coffee, by the way… And for going to the market.”</p><p>Eren blinks. “Ah. Yeah, that’s no problem. I used our ration coupons. I hope you don’t mind.”</p><p>“That’s what they’re for, right? You want coffee?”</p><p>“No, um.” Eren shifts on his feet. His arms lower, but still he holds onto the envelope. “Detective… These drawings…”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Why did you draw this?”</p><p>The kettle is atop the fire. There are coffee grinds in the press. Last night, Levi had Eren’s spunk on his hand, but now this morning’s focus is on some stupid pen marks.</p><p>Whatever. If this is Eren’s preferred issue, then maybe that’s easier.</p><p>He hadn’t told Eren of the nightmares, or of anything of that sort — how he’s convinced his sanity is quickly waning. How deeply Eren’s perception of dreams frightens him. How sometimes the angle of Eren’s jaw or the way his voice cracks or that hue in his eyes trudges up something both foreign and familiar.</p><p>Levi glances at the envelope clutched in Eren’s hand.</p><p>“I was scribbling something I had a dream of.”</p><p>Eren’s chest visibly rises in a breath. “Last night?”</p><p>
  <em> All the time. </em>
</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Eren’s looking for something in Levi’s face. That distressed and desperate look marring every bit of his features.</p><p>“What do you remember?” he says, “Are you…”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. He sets the envelope on the table. Steps closer. His hands grip at Levi’s wrists and then he’s pulling the two of them downward softly, to bend at their knees and rest on their haunches against the kitchen floor.</p><p>“You’re dreaming of these things,” says Eren.</p><p>“Sometimes.”</p><p>
  <em> Every night. </em>
</p><p>“Do you know what they are? What you drew?”</p><p>
  <em> This is some art therapy shit. </em>
</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>“Captain…”</p><p>And Eren slips that word again. The word he says in dreams. The word that has unsettled every molecule of Levi’s body; the word that thrashes him into delirium.</p><p>But today, that word only feels warm. It settles in his chest. Feels right, almost.</p><p>“You say ‘captain.’ Why do you say ‘captain?’”</p><p>
  <em> All these fucking weird dreams got worse the moment you said it. </em>
</p><p>“Because—” starts Eren, but his voice hitches. His mouth is shaking. His eyes look watery. Slowly, his head dips and he leans forward, the edge of his hairline resting against Levi’s shoulder, his fingers gripping hard around Levi’s biceps.</p><p>Levi adjusts. Balances both of their weight.</p><p>And Eren says against his shoulder: “Because that’s who you are to me.”</p><p>There are those dreams, where Eren calls ‘Captain’ as thick droplets of blood run from his nose. Where Eren calls ‘Captain’ as he sits beside him on broken rooftops; when he breathes warm in Levi’s bed; when he’s crawling — dead eyed — onto a ship in the sky. When he says it with deep marks just below his pretty lashes. Or, platformed on a body twice his size.</p><p>But this is not a fabrication of brain waves. This is a man less than one year out from the military; where, maybe, ‘Captain’ was a term he had given to any superior. Habits die hard. He’s a cadet corps brat.</p><p>It’s a sign, maybe, that this is what Levi is to him: a pay grade above him. A figure of authority. Separated by duty and function—</p><p>Fuck. Of course he would see it that way.</p><p>When Eren pulls back, Levi stands and sighs. The water’s been boiling for a while. He pours what’s left into the coffee press. Eren remains resting on his heels on the floor.</p><p>“Come on,” says Levi, and he taps the edge of his foot against Eren’s thigh. He grants himself a cigarette and opens the kitchen window, pushing the table flush against it. The wind pulls through his hair. “That shit I drew, who the hell knows where it came from. Maybe all the hair on Erwin’s eyebrows inspired that hairy, ugly fucker. The brain works weird with dreams.”</p><p>Levi sighs around his cigarette. Eren’s taken a place at the table.</p><p>
  <em> (Last night, Eren had whimpered, ‘Oh God,’ against Levi’s ear; had shaken as he came, had dropped to his knees and gripped Levi at the hips). </em>
</p><p>“Last night…” mutters Levi. And, he doesn’t know where to begin. If it should start with an apology, or a curse between his teeth. Eren is not Erwin or Hange; not casual or comfortable or convenient to him. Not set within the thick parameters of ‘mutually and platonically beneficial.’</p><p>Eren is… Eren was…</p><p>The table creaks. Eren’s weight bears onto it. He sets two palms flat against the tabletop and bends a single knee to place in the table’s center. He leans his weight forward, crossing the space between them. His right hand pulls the cigarette from Levi’s mouth—</p><p>And Eren kisses just like how he is: aggressive, impulsive, hot-blooded. A smearing of the lips in a heady desperation. And he’s warm. His breath is warm. His lips are warm. His tongue is warm. He’s pushing forward into Levi, knicking teeth against his bottom lip, pressing a tongue into Levi’s open mouth. And somewhere in the span of it, both of Eren’s knees have made it onto the table. He’s upright, both hands tangled in Levi’s hair. His neck craned to continue frantically against Levi’s parted lips.</p><p>And there’s a buzz in Levi’s head; he’s gone for a moment, lost. Absorbed, totally, by the rush of Eren Jaeger. All sanity stops. Last night, this morning… it’s disastrous, he knows. There’s a fear in him — a feeling of deep familiarity that pulls up in his dreams, and strikes him even now — not of the blurring of boundaries, or the question of stratum, but of the realization that, one day, he will be devastated completely by all that Eren is.</p><p>Shattered. Consumed. Pushed to a brink. He’s lived it before, in dreams, in—</p><p>His hands gripped around Eren’s hips clench and pull, settling Eren forward until he’s slid from off the table and onto Levi’s lap. Their lips don’t break. Eren’s hands comb harder through Levi’s hair, his fingernails raking lines from the base of his neck to the edges of his scalp. And when Eren shifts his hips, Levi groans into Eren’s open mouth. A thrill sending heat from his cock to between his eyes.</p><p>And, “Captain,” mutters Eren. And, Levi kisses him, still; had Eren always done this with superiors, he wonders. In prison, in the cadet corps… Is Levi just another one of them?</p><p>He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He just wants—</p><p>Eren pulls back. His lips pinkened from the friction. His hands have cupped Levi’s jawline. He traces a calloused thumb against the curve of Levi’s cheekbone.</p><p>Says quietly, sadly:</p><p>“You don’t remember, do you?”</p><p>Levi snorts. “Remember what? Last night?”</p><p>Eren shakes his head. His arms thread around Levi’s shoulders and he leans their chests together, pushing Levi into an embrace. Eren sighs heavy against him.</p><p>“I wanted to tell you,” says Eren. “That I missed you… But, I don’t think you understand.”</p><p>Levi’s staring at the ceiling. His grip loose against Eren’s hips.</p><p>“Eren,” Levi mutters, “What the fuck does that even mean? I’m so tired of all this cryptic bullshit.” He feels his jaw flex in agitation. “All of it.”</p><p>Eren’s quiet.</p><p>“I feel like I’m going fucking insane since you got here. I’m not talking about it in some petty romantic words or poetry shit of that sort. I don’t mean it like that. What I mean is, I feel like I’m losing my goddamn head.”</p><p>Levi tilts his shoulders, coming loose from Eren’s entanglement. And when he shifts his legs, Eren stands, allowing Levi to rise. He brushes past Eren to go to the kitchen counter, where he grips his hands against the tiling and rests his throbbing head against the cold ceramic.</p><p>“I’m so fucking sick of it,” Levi murmurs against the counter.</p><p>The headaches. The vertigo. The delirium. The disorientation.</p><p>That feeling that Eren has crept into every aspect of it all.</p><p>It takes a moment for Levi to realize the gentle touch of Eren’s hand on the small of his back. It’s warm. Comforting, almost.</p><p>And Eren says,</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Repeats again: “I’m sorry.”</p><p>But what’s there to be done? It’s stupid to blame Eren; it’s Levi’s own brain that’s lost its senses; that twists and pulls facets of dreaming, until it’s mutated into reality.</p><p>“I don’t know what we’re doing. Or, what I’m doing,” says Levi. “Do you mind it?”</p><p>“Your… Your headaches, you mean? Or, how you’re feeling?”</p><p>“Last night. Just now.”</p><p>“Oh.” Eren swallows. The blunt change of topic must have startled him. Everything is so disorganized. Actions and conversations stopping and restarting. Levi lifts his forehead from the countertop. Watches as Eren thinks.</p><p>“I… I like it,” says Eren. “I mean… What kind of question is that?”</p><p>“I feel like we shouldn’t.”</p><p>
  <em> And, fuck, that’s hard to say. </em>
</p><p>Eren’s shoulders drop.</p><p>“…Ah.”</p><p>“It’s a gut feeling,” says Levi.</p><p>(<em> Because he will be devastated completely by all that Eren is. Shattered. Consumed. Pushed to a brink. He’s lived it before in dreams. He’s lived it before in his insanity, where everything feels like he’s bled his soul into it before </em>).</p><p>“Okay,” Eren says. He draws his hand back. “Yeah… That’s okay.”</p><p>But Levi knows: Eren’s crawled into his bones; has unwrapped every coil of Levi’s brain to wrap around himself. </p><p>This will fail; these fragile, splintering boundaries.</p><p>And almost, <em> almost </em>, the vague fallout seems worth it.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This week in 'Nepenthe Abridged:' local man's really shitty artwork seems to really turn on roommate. </p><p>Thank you all, as always, for everything. &lt;3 I hope the way in which this story is unfolding is one that you're enjoying. Any thoughts, critiques, or musings are beyond loved and welcomed. Take care of yourself and see you next week!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Who I am: a desperate writer that needs to know people will enjoy this if I keep on writing. Thank you for any validation. It means more than you’ll ever know  </p><p>Also sorry to anyone who prefers Hange spelled "Hanji" or Jaeger spelled "Yeager."</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>